Fallout
by devirnis
Summary: It's been a year since the Locust were destroyed, and life on Sera has slowly returned to normal. But when a sinister discovery is made in the depths of Azura that threatens to shatter the COG's new-found peace, Baird is called in to assist. Unfortunately, the COG aren't the only ones interested in the secrets of Mount Kadar's legacy...
1. Prologue: Alive Again

**[Author's Note] **So, here it is - a new story with actual chapters and actual plot and oh my goodness what am I doing.

Basically, this whole story is just me getting super excited about implications and what ifs after reading up on New Hope, Mount Kadar, where the Locust came from, what the hell the Sires had to do with anything, and how Myrrah ended up as the Locust Queen. Bear with me, I promise it's not as boring as it sounds.

Also, Baird/Sam. Because I love them.

Also also, apparently I like starting fics with prologues from characters who never get a POV in the story again. Who knew.

* * *

**Prologue: Alive Again**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 10 Frost 17 A.E.**

Jace didn't like being one of those guys who complained. Like, okay, everyone was entitled to have a shitty day or feel depressed or whatever, but the way Jace saw it, now that the Locust and Lambent were dead and the miracle fuel that was secretly a planet-wide living parasite had been wiped off the face of Sera, even at the best of times his life was pretty damn good. Plenty of his friends hadn't made it to the end of the war—Gil Gonzales, Tai Kaliso, Michael Barrick, Jonathan Harper—and his own family had been killed on E-Day. There were plenty of worse fates than sorting through a mountain of paperwork.

But still…

_Man, this is fucking boring_.

It had been fifteen months since the COG had discovered and liberated Azura, and they were _still_ trying to catalogue all the shit that had been hoarded in Pinnacle Tower, the central building on the island. It wasn't anybody's idea of a good time so Royston Sharle had precious few volunteers to sort through the mountain of crap in the hotel's basement. As the head of Emergency Management, Sharle seemed to have taken it upon himself to comb over the stacks of paper and experiments left behind by the scientists on the off chance that _something_ incredibly useful might turn up. And when Sharle put his mind to something, it got done. It also probably didn't help that Major McLintock, who had become the de facto commanding officer of Azura's garrison (to no one's delight), was breathing down the Emergency Management Chief's neck.

So that was how Jace and Clayton Carmine found themselves down in the dark, cluttered basement of Pinnacle Tower, attempting to categorize the random crap that belonged to the scientists important enough to be whisked away to Prescott's secret island. Only nothing here belonged to them anymore. Because they were dead—slaughtered by the Locust the way Prescott had imagined the rest of humanity would be. So much for the Chairman's contingency plan.

Jace heaved a loud sigh as he tossed an obnoxiously large research paper on the subtle genetic differences between two species of grass onto a pile he had dubbed Plant Junk. "How long have we been here?" he asked.

Clay—who was still wearing his helmet, even in the dim light of the basement—didn't look up. "An hour. Tops."

"Are you serious?" Jace picked up the next stack of papers. "No way, man. It's gotta be at least two."

"Hey, I'm the one with the watch."

Jace glanced at the title of the essay—_Sera: A New Geological Survey_—and dropped it at his feet. "Ugh, this is torture. What does Sharle think we're gonna find, anyway? A map to an underground bunker filled with magical disease-curing drugs?"

"I'd settle for a hidden supply of bacon," Clay quipped—but there was no mistaking the slightly wistful tone of his voice.

Jace chuckled. "You hold on to that hope, buddy. Most of this is way advanced science crap that we don't even have people for anymore. Do they really think guys like us are gonna be able to weed out the useful stuff from the boring shit?"

Clay shot him a look—or he probably did, anyway; it was hard to tell with the helmet. "What do you mean, 'guys like us'?"

"Y'know…" Jace waved absently. "_Normal_ guys. Sharle really wants to find something, he should get Baird over here."

"Yeah, good luck with _that_. Hoffman'll never let Baird leave Anvil Gate for too long for anything less than an emergency."

Making a noise of agreement, Jace reached for the next paper in his pile. No one he had talked to had come close to finding anything interesting down here, let alone helpful. He supposed that one day some of the stuff down here would be needed, but after the grubs had killed all the scientists and experts hidden away in Azura, Jace didn't know if there was anyone alive who could make heads or tails of most of the information they were sorting through. It would be a long time before people had the leisure to study stuff like urban planning or the humanities again.

Jace had become so used to looking at a title and tossing it aside that when he glanced at the paper in his hand, he was already discarding it before his brain processed the words—and when he realized what he'd just read, he froze instantly.

It didn't look any different from the hundreds and hundreds of essays and experiment write-ups that Jace had sorted through. The font on the cover page was the same, boring, standard block font, formatted exactly the same as everything else he'd half-heartedly categorized. But Jace could feel his palms start to sweat as he stared at the title, hoping that he was somehow hallucinating or reading the words wrong.

_Sires &amp; the Locust: Our Genetic Future? _

_Implications from the New Hope Research Facility Archives_

_Dr Brett Austen, ScD_

A chill went up Jace's spin, as if someone had walked over his grave.

"Hey." Clay had noticed the change in his demeanour, from angrily bored to suddenly tense. "What's wrong?"

Jace handed the paper to Clay wordlessly. The silence that surrounded them had become heavy with foreboding. Jace was suddenly very aware of just how many shadows there were down here.

"Don't look now," Jace said, "but I think we might have that emergency."


	2. Fence, House, Suicide Pills

**[Author's Note] **I realise (somewhat belatedly) that I should give you guys a head's up: this story takes place after both _Desperate Measures_ and _Poison &amp; Wine_. You don't have to read either of those to understand this story, but some things that might be helpful to know:

\- Because of reasons, Baird, Sam and Cole were transferred to Anvil Gate  
\- There was much sexual tension and eventually sex, and Baird and Sam started a relationship  
\- They also moved in to Sam's childhood home together. Cole still lives in the barracks but drops by frequently

And without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One: Fence, House, Suicide Pills**

**Anvil Gate, Kashkur. 11 Frost 17 A.E.**

Sam had spent the first sixteen years of her life in Anvegad—or the ass-end of the world, as she fondly referred to it. As such, when Tyrans complained about cold weather, Sam would always scoff and tell them that they had no idea what _real cold_ was. Anvegad's weather was almost impossible to predict; they could have snow in the same month as record-breaking high temperatures. So growing up in Anvegad, Sam had acclimatized to the ridiculous cold weather that was far too common for her liking.

However, Sam had also spent the last eighteen years in Tyrus, and she was beginning to suspect that she'd lost her hard-won childhood tolerance.

This was the first winter since she and Baird had been reassigned to the Anvil Gate garrison fourteen months ago. Baird had been complaining about the dropping temperatures essentially since the middle of autumn, and Sam had been smugly telling him how much it would suck. So, even if Sam was feeling the cold much more than she would care to admit, she would never let Baird know because then there would be no living with him.

Funnily enough, a year and a half ago Sam never would have imagined that she would _ever_ be living with Baird. Sure, there had been some lingering feelings since they'd first met on Vectes, but Baird had made it abundantly clear that he barely even tolerated her, and then Sam had felt herself gravitating towards Dom. But Dom was gone now, and after she and Baird had both made peace with her feelings for him, they had slowly, cautiously, forged a life together. They'd moved out of the barracks and into Sam's childhood home six months ago and things had, surprisingly, been going pretty well.

Sam smiled to herself, although it was difficult—her skin felt tight and frozen. The air was so cold that it kind of hurt to breathe. _Better pick up the pace,_ she thought. She was on her way back to her house from Anvil Gate's garage, where she had been checking on her rat bike; the cold weather was hard on her old bike, so it required more attention than she normally gave it. If the weather was better Baird would have been in the garage with her, but the building had extremely poor insulation so he did whatever work he could in their living room now.

She trudged through the ankle-deep snow, leaving footprints behind her on the otherwise pristine carpet of white. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her extremely puffy, unflattering jacket (but at least it kept the cold out). Baird had snorted when she'd tried it on after digging it out of the closet, but he'd kept any snide remarks he might have been thinking to himself—which was in his best interest, really, because Sam didn't have any reservations about knocking her boyfriend on his ass.

She made it to her front porch in record time, glad that the furnace had decided to work today. She came in the door, making a show of shivering and rubbing her hands, red with cold. Looking to the side, she saw, as she'd predicted, Baird sitting on the couch, scowling down at some handwritten notes. He didn't look up when she entered; to get his attention, Sam punted the door shut with a little too much enthusiasm.

Baird tuned around at the loud bang, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Bad morning?"

"It's bloody glacial outside," Sam griped, kicking her boots off. "Even for Anvegad."

"Oh come on, it can't be _that_ cold," Baird said, smirking. He hadn't left the house at all today and obviously didn't plan on it, judging that it was after lunch and he was still in his sweatpants.

"Well _darling_," she retorted coyly, walking around the couch until she stood in front of him, "if you won't take my word, how about I prove it to you?"

And in one quick movement she had her hands under his shirt, pressed against his very warm skin. Baird squawked in surprise and pitched backwards in an attempt to get away from the attack, nearly tipping the couch over in the process. He thrashed and wriggled as he tried to slip out from underneath her, but Sam had him trapped perfectly.

"Your hands are _fucking freezing_!" he screeched, attempting to push her off. "God, haven't you heard of _mittens_?"

Sam ignored him; she clambered onto the couch, straddling Baird and sitting on him, making sure he wasn't going anywhere. "Come on, don't you want to help your girlfriend warm up a little?"

"Oh, it's _help_ you want, is it?" Baird spat. "I'll show you help!"

And then with more speed and strength than she was expecting, Baird grabbed Sam's wrists, knocked her leg away so she was falling towards his chest, and somehow—she didn't know how, it happened too fast—she was the one with her back on the couch, with Baird bestriding _her_, grinning triumphantly.

"Wow," she breathed, because she really was impressed.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" He sounded far too pleased with himself. She'd have to fix that.

"Well, now that you've got me in this compromising position, are you going to do anything about it?"

For a second he looked almost confused, until she shifted her hips deliberately. Then his victorious smile took on a knowing tint—like he'd been the one to suggest it—and Sam had to resist rolling her eyes. He bent down to kiss her, but before he could Sam brought her head up to meet him. She bit down gently on his lower lip, grinning slightly as he grunted in feigned annoyance. She let her head fall back a bit, dragging Baird's face with her. For whatever reason, he didn't try to pull away; maybe he was afraid she would bite down harder if he did, or maybe he didn't really mind that much. His breath settled on her cheeks and she felt her face flush. Figuring she'd toyed with him long enough, she released his lip and let him kiss her properly, breathing out a contented sigh as his tongue darted teasingly into her mouth. He always started out slow and methodical, coaxing her mouth open with leisurely motions—until she got impulsive and kissed back harder.

She wanted to move her hands, slip them under his shirt to feel the muscled surface of his stomach, but he had her wrists pinned to the couch above her head. She jerked her arms slightly, hoping Baird could take a hint; he just tightened his grip and held her down firmly. In retaliation she bucked her hips against his pelvis, and was rewarded with a small, strangled noise from the back of Baird's throat. She was really getting impatient now; if he wouldn't let her hands go free—to tear open his shirt, to rip off his sweats—then she would make him so cross-eyed with desperation that he'd have to take his pants off unless he wanted to come inside his boxers.

Sam rolled her hips against him in a recognizable tempo that he quickly matched. Good old-fashioned dry humping—very middle school, and yet very effective. She could already feel the bulge through his pants. A couple more minutes of that and Sam was sure that Baird would be letting her go and getting naked.

Suddenly there was a familiar knock at the door, and before either of them could react it was swinging open and Cole was poking his head inside.

"Anybody home? We just got a call from—_oh sorry_!"

Baird shot his friend a murderous glare, looking very much like he might leap off the couch and commit homicide. "What. The. Hell." he snarled through clenched teeth.

Sam craned her neck to see Cole. To his credit, he didn't look mortified in the least; rather, he seemed almost entertained at having caught his friends in such an intimate situation. She smiled at him. "Hey, Cole."

Cole nodded at her and then turned his attention back to Baird. "There a reason you didn't lock the door?"

Baird was not impressed. "What did you want me to do, put a frigging sock on the doorknob? I'm not your horny roommate, this is _my house_!"

Sam had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. Hearing Baird call it that—not _Sam's_ house or _her_ house, but _my_ house, and by consequence _their_ house—made her much happier than it should have. Luckily, Baird was too busy glowering at Cole to notice her reaction.

Cole shook his head in amusement. "I can see y'all are busy—and that explains why your tac-coms aren't on—but McLintock just radioed in. Found something weird at Azura. Hoffman wants us for a debrief in fifteen."

Baird plastered on a gigantic fake smile for a second. "Great! _Get out now._"

Cole gave them his customary big, booming laugh and backed out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Once Cole was gone, Baird turned back to Sam. The annoyed look was still there, lurking in his frown lines, but then his face softened, his gaze heavy with something that made Sam's heart beat faster. "Now," he said, leaning in tantalizingly close, "where were we?"

"Didn't you hear?" Sam asked innocently. "We've got a meeting. Maybe we should just pick this up later—"

"If you even think about getting of this couch, Byrne, so help me _god_, I will tie you down and have my way with you."

She beamed up at him. "Now there's an idea."

His brows furrowed and his face coloured slightly at her remark, which she found absolutely adorable. Even though he already had her pinned down (she could have shoved him off if she wanted to, but she _really didn't_ want to), the idea of a little light bondage had him blushing like a schoolboy.

"Get on with it, then," she said. "We don't want to be late."

"Demanding, aren't you…"

In order for any progress to be made, Baird had to release her hands. He did so almost ruefully, and then went to work on her puffy winter jacket. In the process of pulling the zipper down, he somehow managed to get it caught on the fabric. There was a great show of yanking that produced absolutely no results (in fact, he probably made it worse, the tosspot), before Sam had to finally mutter,

"And I thought mechanics were supposed to be good with their hands."

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, probably something to the effect of _to hell with this_, as his clumsy fingers left her jacket and moved down to her pants. He had her fly open moments later, and then he was tugging her jeans and underwear down her legs. Sam bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She could feel the way his fingers fumbled and groped inelegantly at the fabric of her clothes. This wasn't logical, precise Baird; he was only this poorly coordinated when he was frantic with desire.

Eventually he managed to strip her pants off, and he tossed them over his shoulder. Something crashed to the floor and Sam flinched, hoping it wasn't anything important. But then Baird had his sweats off—and apparently he'd been going commando, what was _that_ about—and his dick was out and the joke she'd been planning to make died in her throat.

"Here, press your legs together," he said, taking her ankles and balancing them on his shoulder.

Sam did as he asked, and hummed with pleasure as his cock slipped in-between her thighs, his length rubbing over her core. He slid in and out, in and out, in a steady cadence that sent her pulse skyrocketing. When she looked up at him she saw he was biting down on his lip and even though she'd seen him do that a million times before she still found it incredibly hot.

Her head fell back and she made a small, involuntary noise, and he knew without her even having to say that she was ready. She moved her leg to the other side of his head so she was spread wide, and he grasped her thighs, pulling her closer. In one practiced motion he pushed inside of her and she couldn't help the low moan that rumbled out of her throat.

"_God_," she gasped, tilting her hips up for a better angle.

"Never been called that before," he quipped, voice strained. "But I'll take it."

"Oh, don't get cock—" The rest of her sentence was cut off as he thrust harder, pushing deeper, and her hands balled into fists. She could feel the pressure coiling tighter in her core, hot and tense. Her breath was coming faster, high-pitched gasps with every other stroke. He plunged into her again and again, forceful and controlled while she was struggling to hold on.

And then it didn't matter anymore. With a raw cry, she tipped over the edge, all of her muscles clenching at once. She heard Baird suck in a sharp breath as he followed her, his nails digging into her thighs. Then her body went slack, every tense muscle softening. Baird's hands slipped off of her, hanging by his sides. Her legs slid limply off his shoulders, dangling over the edge of the couch. They didn't speak for a few moments; the only sound in the house was that of their breathless panting.

Baird was the first to pull himself together. "So, how was it for you?"

Laughing, Sam pushed herself into a sitting position. "Didn't you say that to a Berserker?"

"A terrifyingly deadly female that obliterates anything in her path? Pardon me for confusing the two of you."

"Now that's just rude." Sam looked herself over. "Great, and now we have to go shower."

Already on his way up the stairs to the bathroom, Baird called over his shoulder, "Then we'll be even _later_ to the meeting!"

"Not what I meant!" Sam yelled after him.

* * *

By the time they finally made it to Hoffman's office, everyone was already waiting for them. Hoffman was standing behind his desk, glaring down at what were presumably the notes from his conversation with McLintock. Cole, Bernie, Pad Salton and Drew Rossi stood on either side of the colonel, the latter three looking serious. Cole, however, grinned so obnoxiously when Baird and Sam entered—even going so far as to _waggle his eyebrows_—that Hoffman glanced between all three of them, one eyebrow raised.

"Sergeant Baird, Corporal Byrne," the colonel greeted them dryly. "Nice of you to finally join us."

"Sorry that we weren't expecting the surprise summons," Baird retorted, hoping that his cheeks weren't turning red. He still wasn't used to hearing himself addressed as a sergeant, even if it had been almost six months since he and the rest of Delta Squad had been promoted.

As always, Hoffman responded to this minor insubordination by fixing Baird with an unimpressed stare. It was enough to make Baird shift uncomfortably until he finally had to look away, chastised.

Hoffman addressed everyone in the room. "Major McLintock radioed this morning. Something turned up in Pinnacle Tower that worried him. And after he explained it to me, I think he's right to be concerned."

"Okay, I'll bite." Baird said. "Who found what?"

"Apparently Stratton and Carmine discovered a research paper written by a Dr. Brett Austen, and Azura has had… _difficulties_ interpreting it so far."

"Brett Austen?" Baird couldn't keep the reverence out of his voice. "No shit." He glanced around and realized that everyone was staring at him blankly. "Don't tell me you guys have never heard of Brett Austen."

"I think you're the only one, sweetie," Bernie said.

"Austen was one of the smartest scientists alive. She specialized in biology, chemistry and genetic engineering. She worked at La Croix University before she 'disappeared' a few years after the Hammer of Dawn counterattack." Baird frowned; he remembered going through the list of scientists and military personnel who had been relocated to Azura. Seeing Austen's name had hit him in a way he hadn't expected. It wasn't entirely surprising that a leading mind like hers would be spirited away to safety, but Baird had always imagined that Austen was more like Hoffman; he had thought she would have stayed at La Croix until the bitter end rather than escape to live a cushy life on a secret island. Of course, Baird hadn't really known her at all. He'd worked for Kurt Elliot, a weapons specialist, and so their paths had rarely crossed. He had a vague memory of sharing some painfully awkward pleasantries with Austen as they both waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew.

"Hang on." Sam's voice snapped Baird out of his daydream. "If they can't understand it, why is everyone so worried?"

Hoffman's jaw tightened. "They can comprehend the title just fine. It has to do with data from New Hope, as well as Locust genetics."

A chill went through the room. Baird remembered New Hope Research Facility all too well. Marcus and Dom had the pleasure of trekking through the old abandoned labs, full of grubs and those creepy-as-fuck Sires. He also remembered how livid Hoffman had been with the late Chairman Prescott afterwards—for keeping New Hope a secret for so long, and still refusing to declassify all of the files he had on the place after Jacinto sank. Now that Prescott was dead, Baird supposed Hoffman could go poking around in all the shit that the Chairman had insisted on keeping hidden.

"So…" Bernie began. "If this Austen was an expert in genetic engineering, and the paper the boys found has something to do with Locust genetics…"

"Then it sounds like we need to decipher that material immediately." Hoffman turned to Baird. "Sergeant, pack your bags. You're being transferred to Azura, effective immediately."

* * *

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 12 Frost 17 A.E.**

Ira Samson started every day the same. He would wake up at 0700, take a ten-minute shower, and turn the coffee machine on. While he waited for it to brew, Ira would wander down to the lab to turn the lights and the machines on, and collect the data that had been produced overnight. When he returned to the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee would be waiting for him. He usually didn't see any of his colleagues until about 0800.

This morning, however, was different.

He was reading his notes from the previous day's experiment as he entered the kitchen, so he didn't notice that he had company until someone politely cleared their throat. Ira's head snapped up, but his face betrayed no surprise—he prided himself on his ability to strictly control his reactions.

"You're up early, Kenton," Ira said pleasantly, but with a tone that suggested he was waiting for an explanation.

Kenton Ward, whom Ira normally didn't see until after Yeva's morning inspection, shifted his weight from his right foot to his left foot—Ira recognised this as a sign that Ward had important news and was deciding how best to phrase it.

"Well?" Ira prompted after a few more seconds of silence.

"Doctor, it's Austen's research."

Immediately Ira's interest was piqued. However, he maintained his cool composure as he went to the coffee machine and poured himself a fresh cup. He held the mug towards Ward in a purely polite gesture; Ward was smart enough to decline the offer quickly with a shake of his head.

"What about her research?" Ira asked, letting the aroma of the coffee waft up to him.

"They found it at Azura," Ward answered excitedly.

"As we suspected. After searching her old facilities at La Croix, there was only one place it could be."

"We intercepted the transmission from Azura yesterday, but unfortunately it wasn't transcribed until Lana started her shift last night."

Ira's eyes narrowed. "Who was on duty yesterday?"

Ward shifted again. "It was your son."

Ira made a mental note to have a word with Gosse later. Now, of course, was not the time to focus on his son's laziness. Nor was it professional to gripe in front of a subordinate.

"And I suppose Azura has called in Sergeant Baird?" Ira said, turning the conversation back to the important development.

"They have," Ward nodded. "He arrives tomorrow."

"I see." Ira sipped at his coffee. What a wonderful turn this morning had taken. "Then we had best begin making preparations. Find Rourke and tell him to meet me in my office in half an hour."


	3. Sensible Heart

**[Author's Note] **Friday update! Plot-related things are slowly happening.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Sensible Heart**

**Anvil Gate, Kashkur. 12 Frost 17 A.E.**

Sam woke to find herself alone in the bed.

_Better get used to this,_ she thought bitterly. _This is what it's going to be like for a while._

The rest of the previous day following Hoffman's announcement had been tense, to say the least. Despite the colonel having told only seven Gears explicitly what was going on, the news of the discovery had obviously circulated around the garrison. The atmosphere for the remainder of the day had fluctuated between edgy anxiousness and forced calm.

However, Sam found she wasn't nearly as concerned about the discovery of Dr Austen's notes as she probably should be. Sure, there was a little bit of fear at the back of her mind now as she wondered what horrible secrets were about to be unearthed, but at the same time she wasn't all that worried about how this would change her future. Austen was dead, as were all the people who could actually act on whatever information was hidden in her notes. So, really, no matter what they ended up discovering, it wouldn't matter for a very long time.

This conclusion that Sam had come to was unfortunately not the same one that Hoffman, Reid and McLintock had reached. As the three highest-ranking members of the COG, all decision-making power was shared evenly between the colonel and the two majors. Hoffman had ordered a conference call after his debriefing yesterday, and Reid had also agreed with McLintock's request to fly in the resident Locust expert—Damon Baird. The general consensus was that it was better to be safe than sorry, and it would be safer to keep the secret research paper on the secret island.

Sam sighed, sitting up in bed. She was being selfish; she knew that, but she still didn't want Baird to go to Azura. For one, she had no idea how long he would be gone, and Hoffman didn't seem any clearer on that either. They'd spent time apart before, so that was nothing new—Baird had gone to Port Farrall to assist with repairs for three months and Sam had managed that. But that time she had a countdown, something to look forward to. It was entirely different now that he was going to disappear to the other side of the planet without so much as a rough guess at when he might be back.

Glancing around the bedroom, Sam saw that numerous of the dresser draws were open, their contents spilling onto the floor. Evidently Baird had started packing. Of course. He was scheduled to be on KR Eight-Zero's flight to Azura that evening. Something twinged deep inside of her; they wouldn't even get a full day together before he left. Baird had spent most of yesterday on a call with Major McLintock, going over whatever he needed to know before he arrived.

Sam trudged down the stairs from their loft bedroom, still in her pyjamas, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. She found Baird sitting on the couch, a half-packed duffle bag at his feet, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth as he scrutinized a pile of books. Sighing, she remembered what the two of them had been doing on that couch only yesterday.

Baird heard the noise and turned around. Sam forced herself to smile as he looked at her, his cheeks stuffed full of food. This day would be over far too quickly.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Baird said through a mouthful of toast.

"Morning yourself." Sam walked over to the couch. "I see you're busy."

"Yeah, well." Baird swallowed and turned his attention back to his bag. "McLintock wasn't exactly clear on how long he wants me for, so I'm trying to figure out what I should bring."

"Ah."

She stood behind him, hoping that he would do… _something_. Offer an apology for being called away again, say how much he'd miss her, hold her hand reassuringly… But he didn't do any of those things. His kit bag seemed far more interesting than his girlfriend at the moment.

"When do you leave?" she prompted.

"Gettner wants wheels up at 1500."

_Eight hours. And he won't even look at me._ Her hands clenched into fists. "I see," she said, not even trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"You don't seem very chipper this morning," Baird remarked.

"Gosh, I wonder why?" Sam snapped, folding her arms across her chest. She knew that Baird liked to tease her, but this was callous even for him. "Do you honestly expect me to be in a good mood when you're taking off later today for god knows how long?"

As she tried to get a better look at his face, it occurred to her that Baird was doing his damndest to avoid eye contact. Then she noticed how he was pressing his lips together—so hard they were almost going white—in a poor attempt to hide a knowing smile. And it all clicked in to place.

"You bastard," she said. "You're having me on."

Baird broke out into an absurdly smug grin. "Did you really think that I would fuck off to a tropical island for an indeterminate amount of time without swinging it so that my girlfriend came with me?"

"You bastard," she said again, even as a relieved smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You had me going, you ratbag."

"You think so little of me?" He put his hand over his heart and made a pained face. "You wound me."

"I'm about to." Sam placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. "And when were you planning on telling me?"

His grin widened. "I thought I'd wait until your pining got borderline pathetic and then I'd give you a head's up. Like ten minutes before the Raven took off."

"So I wouldn't have time to pack? That was part of your master plan?"

He leaned back and rested his head on her sternum. "Then you wouldn't have clothes and you'd have to spend the whole time naked in my room. Trust me, I thought this through."

Making a noise of mock disgust, Sam backed up a couple steps. Baird turned around on the couch to leer at her. She didn't give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes.

"At least pack a bikini," he pleaded. "That would significantly increase my morale—which, incidentally, is how I convinced McLintock that I needed you and Cole transferred to Azura with me."

Sam laughed. "Even if I wanted to indulge your fantasies, I haven't so much as seen a bikini in ten years."

"I guess we'll just have to go skinny dipping then."

"Keep trying, you larrikin. And really, for _morale purposes_? McLintock didn't see through that lame excuse?"

"Like he gives a fuck," Baird said dismissively. "I don't even think he knew who I was until Sharle brought my name up. Potentially the next guy who'll be running the COG and he doesn't even know the names of the guys who put the grubs down for good."

Sam smirked. "Aw, is someone's pride injured?"

"It's just common knowledge!" Baird retorted, indignant. "He probably only knows who Marcus is because they see each other on a regular basis."

"Well, I'm sure once you two meet, McLintock won't be forgetting your name. You make one hell of a first impression."

"Somehow I get the feeling I'm being insulted."

Shrugging, Sam turned her back on Baird and headed for the stairs. "You're the genius, not me." She had some packing to do.

* * *

The flight to Azura was as uneventful as it was dull. Baird would have much rather flown in KR-239 with Mel Sorotki and Kevan Mitchell—those two he could joke around with, toeing the line between dark comedy and just being an asshole. Gill Gettner, on the other hand, was someone that Baird had to watch himself around. He liked her crew chief, Nat Barber, well enough, but with Gettner things were always… tense.

Baird knew that Gettner had been seeing Tom Mathieu somewhat regularly since the war had ended. He tried not to treat her differently because of that knowledge—that wasn't fair to her—but he was never able to forget when he looked at her. Gettner was still a bad-tempered bitch, which had made her easy for Baird to be around before; they could trade barbs and never worry about offending the other. But as the Lambent Pandemic had worsened, Gettner and Barber's caustic commentary in the Raven had become more forced and awkward. Now that the grubs and glowies (or "shinies," as Gettner stubbornly insisted on calling them) were gone, Baird had figured she'd perk up. He often forgot that he was the exception among his fellow Gears—that most of the shit he'd seen just bounced off his carefully cultivated shell.

Gettner wasn't seeing Tom Mathieu for his surgical skills; no, she was seeing him for some rudimentary form of counselling. When Baird had first met Mathieu, he was a Gear combat medic turned trauma surgeon working under Doc Hayman. Mathieu had quickly risen through the ranks of surgeons, essentially becoming Hayman's second-in-command at Anvil Gate following the end of the war. His rising star had eventually put him on Major McLintock's radar and Mathieu had been transferred to Azura about five months back, taking over as the chief medical doctor on the island. As there weren't a whole lot of catastrophic surgeries requiring Mathieu's attention, he'd evidently been "encouraged" to take on the position as head counsellor—apparently because he'd taken a couple of psych classes in university before he'd switched to the Faculty of Medicine.

"Ahhh, that's a sight for sore eyes!"

Cole's voice in Baird's headphones snapped Baird out of his daydream. Barber liked to fly with the crew bay door open, to look at the scenery. While staring at the ocean for the past couple hours had been absolutely _fascinating_, Baird had decided his time was better spent napping; Sam was otherwise occupied, chattering away with Cole about how excited they were to see the rest of Delta Squad again. Anyway. Because of Barber's preference for open doors, Baird could see a small island on the edge of the ocean, silhouetted against the sunset—Azura.

Somewhere on that island was the research paper that had caused such a kerfuffle, sending Hoffman, McLintock and Reid into a panic. Baird was getting a little keyed up now that he was close to laying his hands on it. He was curious—he'd be a fool to pretend otherwise.

"All right, ladies, we're heading in," Gettner said over the radio.

"Thank god," Cole groaned, leaning back in his seat.

"I'm impressed, Cole," Sam said cheerily. "You didn't yak once."

"We're not on the ground yet," Cole answered.

Baird subtly shuffled away from Cole.

A female Gear whom Baird hadn't seen before was waiting for them near the LZ. Baird had expected Marcus or Anya to be there as well, but they were nowhere to be seen; he tried not to feel disappointed. When the wheels touched down, Gettner kindly told them to get the fuck off her Raven, and they wasted no time in doing so. The Gear walked up to them, smiling.

"Sergeant Baird?" she shouted over the Raven's rotor blades. "I'm Commander Walker. Welcome to Azura."

Baird nodded a greeting. "Corporals Byrne and Cole," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Nice to meet you," Walker said. "Shall we?"

The three of them followed Walker as she led them away from the LZ and towards the collection of buildings that were used for housing regular enlisted Gears.

"The three of you will be staying at the Aqua Solarium, in the Acanthus Hotel," Walker explained.

Baird only just managed to hold back his laughter. The frigging _Solarium_ was back up and running? That ridiculously fancy group of structures included smaller hotels, the hospital, restaurants, art galleries and a goddamn _spa_; it was like he was a kid again, on vacation with his parents. Hard to imagine that while he'd been slumming it in barracks for sixteen years, Sera's best and brightest had been living in the lap of luxury. What assholes.

Walker guided them up to the third floor of the Acanthus. Stopping at room 317, she pulled a key card out of her pocket and handed it to Cole. "These will be your accommodations while you're on the island. After you've unpacked, please feel free to explore the Solarium. Frederic Rojas has organized an amateur thrashball team; I believe they're practicing on the field right now."

Cole grinned as he opened the door to his room. "Aww, that's cute. I'll have to show those guys how's the game's _really _played."

Walker motioned for Baird and Sam to follow her further down the hallway. They halted again a few doors down, at room 325. Producing another key card, Walker pushed the door open so Baird could get a look at his new lodgings. It was a pretty sizeable space: the living room and bedroom areas were separated by a wall that jutted out next to the bathroom; the den area came complete with a fridge, coffeemaker, sink and a nice work desk. In the bedroom was a king-sized bed and the curtains were open to reveal Pinnacle Tower in the distance.

"Nice," Baird said, taking the card from Walker.

Walker dipped her head briefly at him before turning to Sam. "Corporal Byrne, your room is just a little further."

Walker started down the hall. Sam gave Baird a bemused smile as she went to follow, but Baird reached out and caught Sam's wrist.

"Uh, that won't be necessary," he said tightly.

Walker turned around, looking confused, and then noticed what Baird was doing. "Oh, of course. My apologies."

"Don't worry about it," Sam said.

"I'll… leave you two to get settled in, then." And with that, Walker was gone.

Baird pulled Sam into the room, closing the door behind her. Their bags hit the carpeted floor with soft thumps. Before he had a chance to say anything, Sam closed the short distance between them, very deliberately pressing her breasts against his front.

"What shall we do now?" Sam practically purred, her hand gripping the back of his neck firmly.

"I can think of a few things," Baird said, and kissed her.

She was still annoyed with him because of his stunt earlier; as her lower lip captured his, she bit down—not quite hard enough to be painful, but with enough pressure to make her point. It would be easy enough to appease her. Moving his mouth away from hers, he left a trail of sticky kisses along her jaw. Her hand fisted in his hair as she anticipated his next move.

Grinning, he let his tongue slide across the soft skin of her neck, then pressed his lips to her pulse, nibbling gently. The _noise_ she made when he did that was intoxicating; he could feel her body already beginning to tremble. His hands slid up under her shirt, pushing her bra out of the way and—

There was a knock at the door.

A low growl rumbled out of Baird's throat as he pulled back. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he yelled, storming towards the door. He was getting _really_ sick of all this interrupting bullshit. He wrenched the door open, ready to murder whoever was on the other side, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that it was Marcus and Anya.

Baird's face went beet red and his anger instantly transformed into embarrassment. "Hi guys," he said.

Anya looked straight over Baird's shoulder to Sam and broke out in a massive grin. She slipped past Baird into the hotel room, running to embrace Sam. There was a show of laughing and squealing as the two women rocked back and forth in the hug; Baird had to resist rolling his eyes.

"Baird," Marcus said, nodding once. "Nice to see you again."

"You too, boss man."

A few seconds of awkward silence hung between them. Baird really was happy to see Marcus again, and he assumed the sergeant major felt the same; but neither of the two men were particularly good with emotions, so Baird hoped his uncomfortable half-smile conveyed even just a fraction of what he felt.

Marcus cleared his throat. "McLintock wanted to see you ASAP. He sent me to collect you."

_How exciting your duties are now, Marcus_, Baird thought. He almost hoped that Marcus and Anya would get fed up of island life under Major Jackass and request a transfer to Anvil Gate; Hoffman would be more than happy to oblige. "Oh goody, I can't wait."

Marcus almost cracked a smile; Baird took that as a victory.

"Since we don't know how long our boys will be away," Anya said to Sam, "why don't I show you around the place? It's changed a bit since you were last here."

"Sounds great," Sam said. "Don't wait up, gentlemen."

Without so much as a glance in Baird's direction, Sam linked arms with Anya and the two women practically skipped out of the room, their heads leaned in close as they whispered to each other. Baird had a sinking feeling that Anya was going to learn a lot more about him than he would like in the next few minutes.

"Well." Baird turned to Marcus. "Evidently we've been ditched."

"Seems that way," Marcus agreed.

"Better not keep McLintock waiting."

Something close to annoyance flicked across Marcus's face. So Baird wasn't the only one who wasn't too keen on the major. Good to know.

"Right," Marcus said. "Let's go."

Baird and Marcus made their way to Acanthus Train Station, which connected the Solarium to Pinnacle Tower—the main building on the island that had housed key political figures as well as the scientists. Major McLintock had chosen General Bardry Salaman's old office as his own, on the penthouse floor of the tower. When Marcus told Baird where they were headed, Baird couldn't help but snort in disgust at McLintock's presumptuousness. And any mention of the late General Salaman was bound to make Gears angry. Salaman had supposedly committed suicide after the Hammer of Dawn counterattack, unable to cope with the guilt of having condemned millions of people to death.

But then they had found his quarters on Azura; Baird hadn't been there when Hoffman had received the news, and for that he was glad. Everyone had pretty much pieced it together already, but finding the body of the previous Chief of COG Defence Staff had made it explicitly clear: Azura had been Prescott's failsafe. The Chairman had expected Hoffman and his Gears to lose; humanity's future had been secured secretly behind the scenes.

McLintock sat waiting for them behind a massive mahogany desk. The view behind the major was absolutely absurd: a gorgeous sunset over a vast expanse of clear blue ocean. Baird felt another stab of anger at Salaman; he'd sat in this office—in paradise—while hundreds of his fellow Gears had died horrific deaths trying to end the war.

The major looked up as Marcus closed the door behind them. "Sergeant Baird, it's a pleasure," McLintock said, rising.

"Yeah, same." Baird wasn't in the mood for polite chitchat. "So where are these notes?"

McLintock looked mildly irritated at Baird's lack of decorum, but he made no mention of it. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

"Dr. Austen's research," he said, tossing the stack towards Baird. "I was hoping you could shed some light on this."

"That _is_ why you transferred me," Baird muttered under his breath, picking up the paper.

He grimaced as he read the title, and then flipped to the next page. As he stared at the letters written there, his grimace morphed into an annoyed frown. This had to be some kind of joke. He looked up and glared at the faces of those around him, waiting for them to let him in on the gag. Marcus and McLintock were watching him intently, apparently ignorant of how ridiculous this was.

After a few seconds of no explanation, Baird angrily demanded, "What the hell is this?"

* * *

Sam hadn't seen Anya in almost six months, and so she didn't feel remotely guilty about abandoning Baird without so much as a by-your-leave. Besides, he was still paying for allowing her to believe that she would be left behind at Anvil Gate. She realised she'd pulled more or less the same stunt with him last year when they'd first left Azura, only a month after the end of the Lambent Pandemic, but still.

Anya gave Sam a tour of the island as they caught up on everything they'd missed in the last few months. Apparently Anya and Marcus were more or less running Azura now, as Major McLintock was surprisingly incompetent despite being a potential replacement for Hoffman if the colonel ever retired. Somehow that fact didn't exactly surprise Sam. She'd worked under Major Reid for a while and knew how much of an asshole he could be, but at least he'd been experienced.

After they'd finished walking around the Solarium and affectionately griping about their boyfriends, the sun had gone down and Anya had to say goodbye. She and Marcus had a room in Pinnacle Tower, so she and Sam parted ways on the beach with a promise to grab a meal together the following day.

Making her way back to the Acanthus, Sam let herself enjoy the warm breeze coming off the ocean. Even though it was dark now, she could be outside comfortably in pants and a t-shirt—no marshmallow jacket required. Truth be told, she wasn't sad to miss another bone-chilling winter in Anvegad. Escaping to a tropical island like a snowbird—she never thought her life would be like this.

When Sam opened the door to her and Baird's hotel room, she half-expected it to be empty; instead she was pleasantly surprised to see Baird sitting at the desk, a series of papers spread out in front of him.

"I assume that's what all the fuss is about?" she said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind her.

Baird didn't look up. "Apparently."

"You don't sound very pleased." She moved to sit on the edge of the desk. "Is it bad or just boring?"

"I have no frigging clue." Baird grabbed a page and handed it to her. "Take a look."

"Okay…" Sam took the paper from him, prepared to see a bunch of big words that she couldn't even attempt to pronounce. What she saw, however, was nothing she could have expected:

HI QNQU YSC TJYE XNE NMNYYT CPP KKNGRTGGLNW CIRAVCO XU HWKLRY

"What the hell is this?" she asked.

"That's exactly what I said!" Baird shoved the chair away from the desk and stood up. He began pacing angrily; that wasn't a good sign. "When they said that they couldn't understand this, I didn't think it was because it _literally wasn't written in Tyran_. Would have been nice if someone had given me a head's up."

"Is it some other language?" she suggested.

He shook his head. "I already thought of that. If it is, it's nothing I've ever seen before. But it doesn't really look like a language."

"You must have some theories."

"A few, yeah. Most likely it's written in some kind of code. When I was at LCU, people talked about how Austen was almost paranoid that someone would steal her research. Apparently it happened once when she was a grad student."

Sam scoffed. "What, she was worried some other prat on Azura would take credit for her work?"

"Maybe old habits die hard, I don't know. Like I said, it's just a theory." Sighing, Baird pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is going to take a lot longer than I thought."

Sam simply shrugged. "You'll figure it out; you always do."

She expected that to brighten Baird up; however, instead of looking proud, he almost looked pained. "Everybody always assumes I'm this genius and that I can do anything, but I can't. I never managed to crack Prescott's data disc, remember? If I had…"

He trailed off into silence, and Sam had a pretty good idea what he was thinking about. The drive that Hoffman stole from the Chairman had contained information on Azura—but the COG hadn't known about the island until it was almost too late. It had been a race against time and Myrrah's forces to make it to Adam Fenix first. If they had known about Azura months—_days_—earlier, then maybe—

Maybe a lot of things. There was no point agonizing over the past. And if Baird thought that people somehow blamed him for how things had turned out—for not being able to crack a heavily encrypted disc that Prescott never intended anyone to see—then he was being ridiculously hard on himself.

"Hey." Sam walked over to Baird and placed her hands on his forearms. "That was Prescott's fault for being a secretive bastard, not yours." She squeezed gently, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Besides, I still have faith in you. You're bloody brilliant, as much as it pains me to admit. It might take a while, but I know you'll figure it out eventually."

That finally earned her the sheepish grin she'd been looking for. "Thanks, Sam. That… means a lot."

She gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Emotional support, that's what I'm here for." Taking his hand in hers, Sam led him towards the bed. "Come on, let's get some shut-eye. It's been a long day."

But then Baird's arms wrapped around her waist, stopping her in her tracks. Leaning in, he pressed his chest up against her back and whispered in her ear, "Why don't we pick up where we left off earlier? We haven't broken the bed in yet."

His breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine. If she closed her eyes and tried hard enough, she could believe this was a vacation—the first vacation that she'd ever taken in her life. And as she turned around in his arms and brought her mouth up to meet his, she thought that there was no one else she would rather share this moment with.


	4. Future Starts Slow

**Chapter Three: Future Starts Slow**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 20 Frost 17 A.E.**

As soon as Baird had seen the cryptic pages of Dr. Austen's research, he'd known that he would be in for a long haul. However, some part of him—probably his ego—had imagined that he'd be able to solve the mystery relatively quickly. A brief glance through a linguistics textbook in one of Azura's many libraries had confirmed what he'd first suspected: whatever Austen had written her notes in, it certainly wasn't another language. Nothing he'd come across—not ancient Tyran, not Gorasni, not Pesan, nor any of the obscure languages of the South Islands—looked even remotely similar to the seemingly random letters in Austen's research.

That helped, in a way. At least it narrowed down Baird's options. It definitely had to be some kind of code—but the problem was, without knowing _which_ encryption Austen had used, Baird was finding it next to impossible to decipher. He'd spent an entire afternoon in the library, grabbing any book he could find on encryptions and ciphers; and the following day he'd skimmed through them all, trying to brush up on the basics, find some sort of pattern, _anything_. So far his efforts hadn't yielded any fruit, and Major McLintock was not pleased by this lack of progress.

McLintock insisted on having daily updates, and these were dangerously close to driving Baird completely insane. The major had apparently expected instant results, but each day dragged on without any sign of progress. Last night Baird had almost committed career suicide when, shaking his head in disappointment, McLintock had implied that Baird's reputation was grossly exaggerated. Baird had been seconds away from opening his mouth and telling the major to stick Austen's research up his fat, ungrateful ass when Marcus had stepped in and saved the day by suggesting that Baird only give an update when he had something to report. Baird could have kissed Marcus for that, but that would have been really awkward for everyone.

So, despite a small amount of initial optimism, Baird was rapidly becoming discouraged. He'd nearly run out of ideas, and even with Sam continuing to cheer him on, he found it very hard to believe that he'd _ever_ be able to crack this frigging code.

It was evening now, and he was alone in the hotel room. Sam and Cole had gone to the dining hall earlier with Marcus, Anya, Jace and Carmine; Baird had decided it would be better to stay behind, as he was in a foul mood from another wasted day and he didn't want his sour presence dampening his friends' spirits. Cole had clapped him on the shoulder, Sam had kissed his cheek, and they'd promised to bring him something back to eat.

Heaving a sigh, Baird set down the piece of paper he'd been holding. It was time to admit defeat for today. The jumbled letters were looking even _more_ jumbled, and if he kept squinting at them he was pretty sure he'd give himself a migraine.

A soft creak broke the silence in the room and made Baird jump. He turned quickly towards the door—which he had left unlocked in anticipation of Sam and Cole's return—and saw that someone had come inside the room.

The intruder was a boy—clearly not a Gear and, as there weren't any civvies on Azura,_ that_ immediately made Baird suspicious. The boy was young, probably mid- to late teens at most, with brown hair that hung over his eyes. One of his hands was hidden behind his back.

Baird stood up quickly. "Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?"

Saying nothing, the boy allowed the door to swing shut behind him. Without taking his eyes off of Baird, he reached backwards and locked the deadbolt.

Baird scanned the room, looking for anything he could use to defend himself. Like an idiot, he hadn't unpacked his Lancer or even his Snub. He hadn't been expecting to defend himself on a secret island populated with Gears.

"What are you—" Baird began, as his fingers curled around the desk lamp.

But he didn't get a chance to finish before the boy rushed at him. Baird chucked the lamp and missed the boy's head by a few inches. As he backed up, he bumped into his chair. He looked down instinctively—stupid, stupid, _stupid_, never take your eyes of the enemy—and then—

* * *

As much as Sam appreciated Dizzy's cooking, there was no denying that Azura's kitchen was far superior to the one at Anvil Gate; and, as a result, the food here was bloody brilliant. If she didn't keep up her fitness training, this really would be like a vacation and Sam would return home ten pounds heavier.

Beside her, Cole patted his stomach and burped proudly. Evidently he shared her sentiments.

"Charming," Sam said dryly.

Cole grinned. "All part of my Cole Train charisma, baby."

"Oh, yes. If I wasn't in a committed relationship, I would throw myself at you right now and beg you to take me."

Even though Cole laughed in an attempt to shrug her off, Sam could detect the slightly nervous undertone. She smiled to herself; it was good to know she could still embarrass her guy friends.

They made their way from the cafeteria to the hotel in comfortable silence. Sam liked that about Cole. Sure, he could be loud and boisterous at the drop of a hat, but he was one of the few people with whom she was at ease. She didn't feel a need to fill an awkward silence with forced small talk; they could just enjoy each other's company without saying anything.

When they made it back to the third floor of the Acanthus, Cole followed Sam to her room. Baird had been working his ass off all week, stubbornly refusing to take a break—Major McLintock's growing disappointment had Baird angrily determined, and it would take coaxing from both Sam and Cole to get him to put down the damn research and eat something. Sometimes Sam felt more like a babysitter than a girlfriend, and she was happy to have Cole as her co-conspirator.

Sam didn't even bother knocking on the door. She just grabbed the doorknob and went to open it—but was stopped in her tracks.

"That's weird. He said he'd leave the door open."

Cole shrugged. "Maybe he forgot. Bring your key?"

"Yeah, hang on." Sam fished it out of her pocket and stuck it in the door. When the little light flashed green she removed the card, but when she went to open the door she found that it was still locked—from the inside.

"The hell?" Dread was beginning to prickle in the bottom of her stomach. She banged on the door a few times. "Hey Baird, it's room service! Open up." Despite the joking, she could feel her voice quavering slightly.

There was no answer. Cole looked at her, worry written all over his face. All Sam had to do was nod once and then Cole was backing up, getting ready to take a run at the door. Sam stepped out of the way, giving Cole plenty of space. He threw himself at the wood, and even though he was a big guy, the force of his impact still surprised Sam. The door didn't give way, but she heard the hinges squeal. Cole backed up again and ran even harder at his obstacle, slamming his shoulder against the weak points. Still nothing. Sam had to force herself not to pace back and forth.

"One more," Cole said through gritted teeth.

And Cole was right—the door finally burst open with a loud crash, the deadbolt completely sheered in half. Sam would bitch about shoddy security later; right now she needed to find out what had—

Baird was lying on his back in the middle of the den area. He'd fallen backwards onto the small coffee table, which was now crushed beneath him. He was so still.

"Oh god, Damon!"

Sam rushed over to him and dropped to her knees. Panic bloomed under her ribs, black and painful, but she stopped herself from completely losing it when she saw Baird's chest rise and fall with a breath.

"He's just unconscious," she said, turning to Cole.

Cole visibly relaxed, and then his finger went to his ear. As he started talking—probably to Marcus or McLintock or even Tom Mathieu over at the hospital—Sam returned her attention to Baird. She knew from past experience that it would be dangerous to move him; he'd been attacked and knocked out, that much was obvious, but Sam didn't have the medical training to tell right away if it was serious or not. If she'd injured his spine and she moved him…

"Mathieu's on his way," Cole said, nearly startling her. "Marcus too. Anya's going to tell McLintock."

Sam nodded. "Right. Okay." _What the bloody hell happened here?_

"Ungh…"

Sam snapped her attention back to Baird at that small noise. As she watched, Baird's face twisted into a grimace. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. It seemed to take a minute for him to process what he was seeing, and then his eyes found her face. "Sam?"

"Hey." She smiled down at him. "Don't move, okay? Mathieu will be here soon."

Baird looked mildly annoyed, but he didn't argue. Sam couldn't see the harm in gently stroking his hair. His cheeks coloured slightly at her touch; perhaps it was a tad overly affectionate for him with Cole in the room, but given the circumstances could Baird really blame her?

"Baby, what happened?" Cole asked, dropping into a squat.

"Some asshole jumped me," Baird muttered. Then something seemed to occur to him as his eyes widened. "Shit, Austen's research. Is it still on the desk?"

Cole took a quick look, then shook his head. "Guess that's what he was after."

Baird screwed his eyes shut. "Fuck. McLintock's gonna kill me."

Tom Mathieu arrived a few minutes later, followed closely by Marcus. The doctor was pleased that Baird hadn't been moved since regaining consciousness, and quickly began to examine him. Marcus hovered at the entrance of the room, clearly torn between giving Mathieu space to work and wanting to check on Baird himself.

"How's your neck feeling?" Mathieu asked, removing Baird's shoes.

Now that enough time had passed for Baird to get bored, he was back to his impatient, cynical self. "Frigging _fine_," he huffed. "It's my head that's killing me, but I figure that's probably pretty routine after some asshole whacks you with a pipe."

"I'm just taking precautions, Sergeant," Mathieu said. Impressively, he didn't sound annoyed at all. "Depending on how you fell or how you were hit, it could have jarred your spine, and then moving you would have disastrous consequences."

Baird blew out an irritated sigh. Sam, however, was still imagining worst-case scenarios; she twisted her fingers together at the word _disastrous_. Cole noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"Just let Mathieu work, Baird," Marcus said tersely.

"Look, I'm _fine_. I can wiggle my toes and everything, see?" Baird did so, proving his point.

"At least his personality's intact," Marcus said under his breath. Sam snorted.

After a few more minutes of poking and prodding, Mathieu got to his feet. "Just a minor head injury; no concussion or spinal cord damage. Consider yourself lucky, Sergeant."

Baird sneered. "Told you guys. Can I get up now?"

Mathieu nodded, and Cole extended his hand to help Baird to his feet. Baird made a show of turning his head back and forth and swinging his arms, while Sam, Marcus and Cole all watched, unimpressed. Still, even in the face of his arrogant nonchalance, Sam couldn't stop herself from reaching out and placing a hand on the small of Baird's back. Baird flinched, surprised, and then looked at her, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Right. Well, unfortunately, McLintock's demanding an explanation, so we'd better go."

There definitely wasn't a smile on Baird's face now. He scowled and exhaled slowly. "Wonderful. This night just keeps getting better and better."

* * *

To say Major McLintock was not happy would be an understatement.

Baird was used to being reamed out; he held the prestigious honour of one of the shortest officer careers in COG history, and his early days in the army had set a precedent for running his mouth and getting demoted. But even though he'd been through shit like this before—the serious frown, the disappointed tone, others in the room who stood silently and tried not to look at him—it didn't mean he'd grown to like it.

Marcus and Walker were also in McLintock's office. Anya had been sent out earlier with a patrol to attempt to catch Baird's assailant. Baird didn't think was likely at all, but he knew better than to voice dissent when an officer was this pissed off at him.

"…absolutely unacceptable!" McLintock was saying. Baird had more or less tuned the major out for the past five minutes; he was waiting for the ranting part to finish before he started talking. "What made you think it was a good idea to keep the entirety of Dr. Austen's research in your personal quarters?"

Ah, a question. It was time to jump in and defend himself. "I think a better question might be how the hell this kid knew about the research in the first place," Baird snapped.

"Or how he knew about Azura," Marcus added, coming to the rescue. "Or how he got onto Azura without anyone noticing."

"I think that's down to our complacency," Walker said. "We've been operating under the impression that no one outside the COG knows about Azura. Clearly that isn't the case."

McLintock frowned, like he wasn't convinced. "Can we be certain that we don't have a traitor in our midst?"

Baird snorted. "Yeah frigging _right_. After fighting the grubs for sixteen years, you really expect a Gear to leak info about a top-secret, potentially dangerous research paper? Uh, I don't think so."

"So what scenarios are we looking at?" McLintock asked. He was still glowering, but at least he was agreeing with Baird; that was a good sign.

"I think it's safe to assume that Azura isn't as secret as we've been assuming," Walker answered. "Someone out there—someone outside the COG—knew about the island. And about whatever Dr. Austen was working on."

Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "Still, even if they knew about Austen's research, that doesn't explain how they knew that we'd only just found it and that Baird was the one working on it."

Walker snapped her fingers. "The radio. That has to be it."

"What, someone hacked into our comms?" Baird was sceptical.

Walker nodded. "Azura's communications are secured, but the encryption is surprisingly basic. The security was probably impressive back when the base was first built, during the early years of the Pendulum Wars, but as the Locust war dragged on, I doubt they were thinking about keeping the comms secure. No one is supposed to know about Azura, so monitoring our outgoing broadcasts hasn't been a priority. We just assumed that no one outside the COG would be looking for a secret broadcast from a secret island."

"Fantastic," Baird groaned. "I'm guessing there isn't a way to see who's been hacking in?"

"Unfortunately not," Walker said. "Like I said, we've had other pressing concerns getting the facilities up and running after the last battle with the Locust. We thought we were _decades_ away from worrying about stuff like this."

"Fair enough," Marcus said. "There was no way to know we were being monitored."

"We can't just let this stand!" McLintock declared. "We _must_ find those responsible for this attack. They've stolen important intel and violated the very sanctity of Azura!"

Baird exchanged a look with Marcus. _What a prat,_ Baird thought, and then smirked to himself as he realised he was using Sam's vocabulary.

"We'll find them," Marcus said, with way more confidence than Baird felt. "We can reach out to our Stranded contacts on the coast, see if they know anything."

McLintock nodded, pleased. "Yes, good. And in the meantime, we should institute patrols around the clock. They will not find us vulnerable again." The major turned to Baird. "It's a damn shame that we've lost Austen's work. That someone stole it all but confirms the importance of its contents."

Clearly his throat quietly, Baird shifted his weight. "Um, we didn't lose _all _of it."

"_What?_" McLintock looked torn between being overjoyed and appalled.

"I didn't want to mark up the original," Baird explained, "so I might have… copied a bit of it out. To write on."

The major took a deep breath. "Normally I would reprimand you for making unauthorized reproductions of classified documents, but it appears your complete disregard for protocol has worked in our favour. Sergeant, you are to continue attempting to decode the research."

Baird was so done with this meeting. "Right. Sure thing."

"But from now on," McLintock continued, glaring for effect, "you will work in a secure space, one with more protection that a deadbolt."

"Yes, _sir._" Baird only just stopped himself from moaning.

"Dr. Austen's personal laboratory should suffice," Walker said. "The biometrics are no longer functional, but the security lock on the door is still quite impressive."

"Yeah, sounds great. Can I go now?" If Baird hadn't been knocked unconscious earlier and then _immediately_ dragged into a meeting with Major Rectum, he might have been in a marginally better mood. But his night had been pretty shitty so far and he wanted nothing more than to go back to his room and sleep off his headache.

McLintock stared down his nose at Baird. "Very well, Sergeant. You're dismissed."

"Thank god," Baird breathed.

* * *

Sam was waiting up for him. Baird found her in her pyjamas, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. Even though he was groggy and exhausted from being knocked out and—perhaps worse—having to sit through _another_ discussion with McLintock, Baird couldn't help but smile when he saw her like that.

He kicked off his shoes and jogged towards the bed, jumping when he was a few feet short. The force of his weight landing on the mattress nearly knocked Sam over, and they were both laughing by the time he pushed her onto her back and crawled on top of her. He grinned down at her as she slid her hands up over the contours of his arms.

"Did McLintock flay you alive?" Sam asked.

"Nah. I think he's more worried about how he's going to explain this shit to Hoffman." Baird laughed humourlessly. "Getting attacked on a secret island. Gotta say, I didn't see that one coming."

Sam's face changed at his comment, her brow furrowing slightly as she pursed her lips. _Uh oh,_ Baird thought, _what did I do now?_

"You scared the hell out of me, you know that?" she said quietly.

"What? How?"

"When Cole got the door open and I saw you lying there, I thought for just a second…" Sam looked away, embarrassed.

"Hey." Baird gently took her chin in his hand, turning her face back to him. "I'm fine, see?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Yeah."

He leaned closer and kissed her softly—something he'd been waiting to do all day. Despite his light touch, he could feel her begin to relax, even as her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt. He held her like that for a few moments, content to enjoy the feeling of her body underneath him. It was with no small amount of regret that he had to pull back slightly and catch his breath.

"Have I mentioned that it's incredibly attractive when you worry about me?" he said, smirking.

Rolling her eyes, she swatted his shoulder playfully. "You coit."

Then she tugged him down onto the bed so they were both lying on their sides, facing each other, and kissed him again. Her lips brushed against his tenderly, and he reached out to put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer. It wasn't a kiss that led to anywhere but more kisses, and Baird was perfectly fine with that; he still felt a bit shaky and the back of his head was throbbing away with a dull ache.

When his mouth turned slow and clumsy against hers, Sam giggled and pushed him away. "I think somebody's ready for bed."

He opened his mouth to contradict her, but a yawn came out instead. Traitorous body, ruining a perfectly good make out session. Then again, if Sam did try to start anything and he fell asleep, he'd never hear the end of it.

"Good thing I'm already in my sweats," he said, fighting back a second yawn.

She hummed in agreement, shuffling closer until her arms were wrapped around him. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, her breath coming in soft, warm puffs against his neck.

"Night," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin.

"Night," he echoed, and reached across the bed to switch off the light. It didn't take long before he was unconscious for the second time that evening.

* * *

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 20 Frost 17 A.E.**

"We were too hasty," Lana said. "We should have waited longer."

Ira sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had made a gross miscalculation, and now he was paying for it. From the beginning, Lana was against sending Gosse to Azura to retrieve Austen's research; she had begged Ira to assign Rourke instead, or to at least wait a little longer until they had more information. But Ira had been unwilling to take that chance, and Gosse would have the easiest time moving around the island unnoticed.

If the COG decoded Austen's notes, there would be no hesitation; they would be destroyed immediately. Ira couldn't lose that research—it was their last chance, all he had left. All his experiments had failed. As much he hated to admit it, Ira knew there was no way to move forward without Austen's work. He and Rourke had agreed that it was better to move sooner rather than later.

What Ira _hadn't_ counted on, however, was the great Sergeant Baird being unable to decrypt the notes in a week. Ira's overestimation of Baird's abilities had put him in an unpleasant situation.

"What's done is done," Rourke growled, coming to Ira's defence. Even if Rourke was more thug than scientist, Ira could still admire the man's loyalty. "We made a decision and acted on it. There's no point debating whether it was the right one."

"Obviously it wasn't," Lana said. "Now we've tipped our hand—there's no way I'll allow Gosse to go back there. Security will have _tripled._"

Ira was pleased to see that only Henry Morrow bobbed his head in agreement. But Lana _was_ right. Getting Gosse onto Azura had been relatively easy; the COG put too much faith in Azura's secrecy, and that had been their way in. But now that Gosse had assaulted a soldier and stolen the research, patrols would be ramped up. It would be next to impossible to make it off the beach if they tried again.

Beside Ira, Ward finally spoke up. "Yes, we were hasty, but it wasn't a total loss. We still have the research."

Lana scoffed. "For all the good it does us. We can't read it! If all we wanted was the paper, we would have moved the day we knew they had it instead of waiting for Baird to arrive."

"Enough."

Ira didn't even have to raise his voice. The moment he spoke, his colleagues quieted.

"We had no way of knowing how long it would take Sergeant Baird to decode the research. We made a guess and we were wrong. But Ward is right; we have half of what we need. And there's more than one way to obtain the keyword."

"How?" Lana asked. "We'll never get anywhere near Baird now. He won't be out on patrols."

"No, but someone else will be." Rourke grinned, catching on. "We can move on the secondary target."

Nodding, Ira continued. "Yes, exactly. Gosse will continue to monitor internal communications. The moment our target is scheduled for a patrol, Rourke will take a team and hit Azura again."


	5. Your Star

**Chapter Four: Your Star**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 23 Frost 17 A.E.**

Following the security breach, Major McLintock's already unpopular command had gone from mildly annoying to completely intolerable. The major's handling of the situation had once again confirmed Baird's opinion of officers: freeloaders who were promoted until they couldn't do any more hands-on damage. Hoffman was the only exception—and yes, Baird was aware that the colonel probably would have responded in a similar vein if something like this had happened at Anvil Gate, but Hoffman wouldn't have managed to piss off every single Gear under his command while announcing new security measures.

Quadrupled patrols—which Baird was a waste of time because, really, why would these guys need to hit Azura again when they already had what they wanted—beefed up security at every building on the island, and, oh, let's not forget McLintock's _daily_ reminders that Baird needed to get Austen's notes decoded.

Sometimes Baird regretted making his genius well known. It would have been easier to just be a normal Gear with normal duties—not expected to perform miracles at the drop of a hat.

But then again, where was the challenge in that?

Still, he wasn't making much progress with Austen's paper. This morning he had felt particularly frustrated and desperate for answers, and so he started to look for mentions of Brett Austen in other scientists' research—most of which were, thankfully, only hard to read because they were painfully boring. He hadn't expected this change of tactic to lead to much, as most of the other researchers were looking at imulsion only, but at least it felt like he was doing something. Rex Jerome and Erica Marling had been good places to start, as their fields were somewhat related to Austen's.

But now, a couple hours and a lot of reading later, Baird was beginning to regret his decision to go poking around.

It wasn't that he hadn't found anything. At this point, he was used to failure and it hardly bothered him—okay, that was a lie. But dead ends were better than horrifying revelations.

Baird supposed he would have found out eventually. At some point, someone would get around to going through all the classified documents on Azura. He just didn't think it would be him making these discoveries and then trying to figure out how to tell people—McLintock, Marcus, Hoffman.

_Fuck me._

As a mechanic, Baird hadn't expected to understand much of senior geneticist Jerome's work. It would have been easier that way. But for some reason, Jerome had decided to compile a history of what he called "genetic abnormalities." Baird had always assumed the Formers that Delta had run into in Mercy had been the first instances of humans mutated by imulsion. Apparently he was wrong. Apparently the higher-ups had known about cases of mutation from the start, going all the way back to Chairman Monroe.

The Sires they'd encountered at New Hope. Those monsters had been people once. New Hope had been set up during the Pendulum Wars to find a cure for lambency. Considering how well _that_ worked out, Baird had assumed their failure to find a cure had shut down the facility; but as Baird kept reading, he found it had been information leaks, a series of violent incidents, and even scientists resigning that eventually put a nail in New Hope's coffin. The lead researcher, Dr. Niles Samson, had picked up what he could and left—for Mount Kadar. Whomever Samson had taken with him had eventually constructed Nexus, the capital city of the Locust Hollow.

Baird shivered. He'd gone over Jerome's notes again and again, trying to convince himself that he'd been mistaken. But, based on the descriptions of the children of the Sires—mutated in the womb—and the fact that Samson had basically _founded _the Locust capital city with these children… Baird knew exactly what that meant. The "children" of New Hope were the first generation of the Locust. Two steps away from human.

He slammed Jerome's notebook closed and shoved it away from him. _Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit._ As much as it sucked, he had to tell Hoffman. New Hope had been a bone of contention between Hoffman and Chairman Prescott: the colonel was pissed that, even as the highest ranking officer in the COG, he hadn't know about the research facility until Prescott declassified it so Delta could look around for clues to the location of the Locust stronghold.

All the pieces were falling into place. How could Baird have been so blind?

Baird stood up. Just as he was about to reach for his tac-com, he was suddenly overcome with an uncharacteristic feeling of indescribable rage. He turned on the fine chestnut desk and kicked it with all his might—he wanted to dent it, to split it in half, because he couldn't get his hands on Austen or Jerome or even fucking Prescott and throttle them for being so goddamn secretive. While his boot made a satisfying _thunk!_ against the wood, it didn't leave as big of a gouge as he was hoping. But as Baird stood there, breathing deeply and trying to compose himself, he heard a strange sound.

It was almost like a whisper—wood on wood, a small, delicate scrape. Baird couldn't see where the sound had come from until he looked under the desk: a tiny, hidden compartment had opened up.

"Fucking bitch," he said to himself.

He reached inside the secret drawer and pulled out a book—No, on closer examination, it wasn't a book but a journal, with a black leather cover and some sort of pattern embossed on the front. Baird flipped it open to the first page. It was blank, save for two words written in tiny, cramped handwriting in the top right corner: _Brett Austen_.

_If she wrote her frigging _diary_ in code, I swear I will chuck myself into the ocean._

Baird turned the page, trying to suppress that pesky hope that was trying to bubble up in his chest.

_1 Gale 14 A.E._

_Last night's experiment was a success (see pg. 113 in OGF). Despite EB's hogging of the lab equipment, I've managed to convince Richard that my work is much more important. This after noon I plan to retry the failed experiment from last month._

_2 Gale 14 A.E._

_Esther complained to the Chairman, but Richard was once again on my side. The importance of my work is secondary only to that of Professor Fenix._

Baird let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Finally, something he could work with. Even though she'd hidden her personal journal, Baird wasn't optimistic about finding any explicit mentions of Austen's research in her diary. Still, it was better than nothing.

He pressed a finger to his ear. If he had to see McLintock and report this, he wasn't doing it alone. "I need to talk to you, ASAP."

There was a pause before Marcus's gruff voice answered, and Baird hoped he wasn't interrupting anything. "What's going on?"

Baird heaved a sigh. "Well, I've got good news and bad news…"

* * *

Baird hadn't noticed that the sun had gone down until a familiar pattern of knocks on his door forced up to look up for the first time in hours—judging from the stiffness in his neck. His meeting with McLintock had gone about as well as Baird had expected: not trying hard enough, good find, work harder, blah blah blah. And so Baird had buried himself in Austen's journal, meticulously combing through it—which was no small feat, considering that the diary spanned two years and Austen had written in it every day. Granted, some entries were short and she seemed to be writing just for the sake of writing, but some days went on and on for _pages_. It was predictably vague, no direct references to her research or experiments, but Baird was hopeful that his superior intellect would be able to piece it all together. Eventually.

Before Baird even had the chance to get to his feet, there was another series of knocks, followed by a muffled voice: "Come on, you tosspot, open up. I don't have all bloody night."

Smirking to himself, Baird stood up and walked over to the door. It was well after dinnertime and he hadn't made it to the cafeteria all day; he should have been expecting either Sam or Cole to show up and play nanny. As he punched in the code to release the high-tech security lock, he could hear a foot tapping impatiently.

He was slightly surprised by Sam's presence on the other side of the door, but that was only because she was standing far closer than she needed to be—so close that their noses practically touched when he opened the door. She grinned at him, and he noticed that she was wearing her full Gear tackle.

"Hi."

"Hi." He stepped aside to let her come in. "Going out tonight?"

Sam closed the door behind her and the lock automatically slid back into place. "Yes, like I said this morning."

"Oh. Sorry, there was a lot of information coming at me today."

"Yeah, I heard." She stopped in front of his desk and peered down at Austen's open journal. "Pretty messed up stuff."

"Oh yeah, real cheery reading." He followed her over to the desk and sat back down in the chair. "Not that I don't appreciate you dropping by, but I want to finish going through this."

Unsurprisingly, Sam showed no signs of leaving. When he pointedly bent over Austen's journal and started reading, she began kicking his chair—worse, there was no discernable pattern to her strikes, because she had an uncanny talent for pushing his buttons.

"Stop it." He swatted at her leg. "I'm serious."

"You're _always_ serious. You've been a hundred times more serious since we got here." She smiled at him. "It's time for a break."

_Shit. I know that look._ "Aren't you supposed to be going out on a patrol? We don't exactly have time to—"

"I don't have to meet up with Clay for another fifteen minutes. That's plenty of time to fool around a bit."

"_Sam_," he groaned, trying to ignore the way his pulse picked up under her heavy gaze.

"_Damon_." She mimicked his irritated tone with alarming accuracy before sitting down forcefully on his lap. He couldn't help but grunt under the added burden of her armour, which earned him a warning look. "I hope you're not planning on making a crack about my weight."

He laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good." And then she leaned forward and kissed him.

His hands instinctively came up to rest on her hips, and he was annoyed with himself for falling so quickly under her spell. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with impromptu necking, but he thought he had more self-control than this. Apparently just not when Sam was around. Although, if he was honest with himself, his girlfriend's tongue in his mouth was infinitely more enjoyable than going through Austen's preachy, self-righteous diary.

"You are such a pest," he gasped, pulling away.

Sam beamed at him. "Yes, but I'm _your _pest."

Her mouth was on his again, swallowing his rebuttal. He could taste toothpaste, light and minty, on her tongue, and was suddenly self-conscious of his own breath. His face bloomed red, but if Sam had any complaints, she hadn't voiced them yet—and she never was one to pass up "giving him stick," as she liked to say. He really should just turn his brain off and enjoy the moment; he'd been working in overdrive for the last week, and Cole and Sam wouldn't let him forget it. They kept nagging him to take breaks and eat food, even though he was _trying_ to decipher a pretty damn important research paper. Probably would have done it by now too, if they'd just leave him alone and let him work.

Sam's hands moved from his shoulders to his hair, one gently massaging his scalp and sending tingles down his spine, her other hand curling into a fist. Baird reconsidered that _maybe_ it was okay for his friends to interrupt him once in a while. He wanted to slide his own hands under Sam's shirt and up to her breasts, but unfortunately her chest plate made that impossible. He had to settle for letting one palm run over the swell of her ass; the light pinch that he gave her made her peep with surprise and then nip his lips in retaliation.

There were still some moments when Baird found this—their relationship—oddly surreal. Maybe it was the change of scenery. He'd become accustomed to all the gradual changes at Anvil Gate: spending more and more nights together when they were still in separate bunks, eventually moving in with her, the routine domesticity that quickly became _normal_. But coming back to Azura, he felt almost as if he'd gone back in time. The last time he was here was just after the end of the war, when _everything_ in his life was being redefined—not just these feelings he had for Sam. So being back on the island now, a year and a half later, just put in perspective how much his life had changed.

Not that he was complaining or anything. He rather liked this life where his girlfriend would drop by his office and kiss him until he couldn't see straight.

And just as abruptly as it had started, Sam stopped, clambering off his lap and backing towards the door. Baird managed to choke back his whine of protest, but he couldn't stop himself reaching towards her. She smiled at that, biting down on her lower lip, and Baird knew he couldn't let her have the last word—so to speak. He jumped up and closed the distance between them, not stopping until her back was pressed up against the wall.

"Clay will be waiting," she said, trying to play it cool, but he heard the way her breath caught in her throat.

"Let him wait."

Laughing, Sam nimbly slipped away from him. "I really have to _go_." She paused for a second, considering. "But I will walk you to your room—just to be sure you take a _frigging break_."

Sam turned her back and swept out the door, which was good for Baird, considering the idiotic grin that broke out on his face when she used the word _frigging_. It was his word; he was rubbing off on her, too.

He cast one last look over his shoulder at Austen's journal, open on the desk. His nose wrinkled as he thought of going back to it. Yes, Sam was right; he needed to stop working for today. There was nothing in the diary that couldn't wait until morning.

They were the only two people on the train to Acanthus Station. Baird wanted to use that to his advantage, but Sam was being annoyingly coy now. She looked away whenever he tried to lean in for a kiss, pushed his hands off her legs, smirking all the while. She loved to tease him; he _hated_ it because he was not a patient person. But it meant that when she finally let him kiss her again, it would be _so_ worth it.

When they finally made it to their hotel room, Baird couldn't deny that he was actually pretty tired. He kept taking long blinks, and suddenly the thought of crawling into bed was almost as enticing as the thought of Sam's mouth—almost.

Sam used her keycard to open the door and then stepped aside. Baird only walked halfway through the threshold before he turned to her. She really did look quite nice in her armour—his badass action girl. He just _had_ to sneak in one last kiss before she headed out on her patrol.

He leaned in, but Sam brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing her fingers to his lips.

"Save it for when I get back," she said. "I don't finish until 0500, and I expect to find you _asleep_ when I come back here."

"Yes, _mom_," he grumbled.

"I'll see you in the morning," she whispered, before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall.

After the door had shut, Baird stood there for a few moments, looking at the empty space Sam had left behind. There was a sharp feeling of disappointment in his gut. He really wished that he'd kissed her.

* * *

Impressively, Sam was only five minutes late meeting Clay in the Acanthus's lobby. She waved apologetically as she jogged up to him, but he didn't seem too bothered. Sam figured that he'd rather be having couch time instead of getting ready for a boring night patrol, so he probably didn't begrudge her for making him wait.

"Ready to head out?" Sam asked.

Clay shrugged. "Can hardly wait."

"Right then. Let's go walk around in the dark for a couple hours."

Their patrol route took them along the beach, which was nice as Sam never got tired of the breeze coming off the water. Having grown up in landlocked Kashkur and then spending most of her adulthood in Tyrus, Sam had never really experienced the ocean. Even when she was on _CNV Sovereign_, they'd been deployed so often that she felt like she'd spent more time on the Ravens than the carrier. So, even if it was dark and she couldn't really see out over the ocean, Sam could still appreciate the briny smell and the sound of the waves breaking on the shore.

"How's thrashball going?" Sam asked. If they were going to wander pointlessly around the island, she could at least use the time to catch up with her former squad member.

"It's more of a workout since Cole showed up," Carmine answered, kicking at something on the ground. "Apparently we were half-assing it before, so now he's showing us how _real_ athletes practice."

Sam snorted. "A bit more than you bargained for?"

"Nah. Not a lot happens here—before Austen's stuff turned up, anyway. It's nice to have something to do."

"Yeah, I hear that." Not that Anvil Gate was much more exciting than Azura, but if Sam didn't have Baird to keep her entertained, she could imagine her days running monotonously together. One more reason to keep him around.

They'd been walking and making small talk for about half an hour when Clay abruptly stopped. "You see that?"

"See what?" Sam squinted in the direction that Clay was looking.

"Hang on, it's gone now… Stay here, I'm gonna check it out."

There was something that wasn't sitting right in Sam's gut. "Clay, I can go with you."

"It's probably nothing. You don't need to go poking around in the trees just because I thought I saw something."

"Okay…"

Though her tone was unsure, Clay didn't seem to take notice of it. He started towards the tree line, Lancer only half-raised. Sam turned around to face the path, just to make sure that no one snuck up on them from behind. It was probably nothing; just an animal, or a beam from the flashlight hitting some reflective garbage. No reason to freak out.

There was a noise behind her; it sounded like a muffled shout from Clay. As Sam spun around to investigate, a hand clamped over her mouth. For one stupid moment, she thought it might be Baird, come to surprise her in the dark. But whereas Baird would have been firm but gentle, this hand's fingers dug into her skin. She tried to wriggle away, but an arm came around her body and held her in a crushing grip. Seconds later there was a sharp sting on her neck and she could feel something cold spreading out underneath her skin.

She opened her mouth—not to scream, she knew that was pointless, Clay would have been here already if he wasn't being attacked himself—and bit down, _hard_. Unfortunately, her assailant's hand was protected by a thick glove, and her teeth didn't even make him grunt in pain.

Whatever she'd been injected with was starting to work; she was beginning to feel woozy and blackness was creeping in on her vision. She half-heartedly attempted to kick whoever was behind her, but there was no force in her. There was whispering close to her ear, though she couldn't make out the words. Her body sagged forward and the hand left her mouth. She couldn't even find the strength to swear as her arms were pulled behind her back and lashed together tightly.

Her eyes finally closed as she was picked up and thrown over someone's shoulder. She hated herself for not being able to fight back, for being caught so easily, for being the damsel in _fucking_ distress. But she couldn't beat herself up for much longer; the pull of unconsciousness was too much to bear.

As she lost her grip on reality, her last thought was of Baird.

He'd notice that she was gone.

He'd come for her.

He'd come…


	6. Vertigo

**[Author's Note] **Here we are, friends, a new chapter! I'd like to thank everybody for their lovely reviews; I love reading them hopefully as much as you love reading this :)

* * *

**Chapter Five: Vertigo**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 24 Frost 17 A.E.**

Baird slowly came to the next morning with the extremely disoriented feeling that he only got whenever he slept the whole night without so much as rolling over. It took him a couple blinks and a moment of confusion to remember that he was on Azura, not back at Anvil Gate. Groaning, he stretched out on the bed, expecting (and intending for) his arms to hit Sam; instead, his groping was met with empty, cold sheets.

_Fuck me, how late did I sleep?_

He sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Glancing around, he saw that the room was empty too. He tried not to be mildly annoyed, but he had assumed Sam would wait for him before heading down to the dining hall. With another groan, he got to his feet, shaking the stiffness out of his limbs. Maybe Sam had just been so hungry that she couldn't wait for him to wake up; and, after last night, he found it easy to believe that she'd leave him to get a few more minutes of sleep. Although, he was a little surprised that he hadn't woken up when Sam came back from her night patrol, or when she'd gotten out of bed this morning. He must have been more tired than he thought.

After he'd dressed—looking more Stranded than Gear in his sweatpants and hoodie—Baird made his way to the cafeteria. Enough of the morning had passed that most of the crowd was gone; only a few stragglers remained, who, like Baird, had the luxury of sleeping the morning breakfast rush away. He scanned the tables, looking for the familiar dark hair and tattoos, but he couldn't see Sam anywhere.

Weird. Maybe she was with Anya.

As he was there anyway, he grabbed a bagel and an apple before heading off in search of Sam again. He'd barely taken two steps out of the caf when someone called after him.

"Baby!"

Baird turned to see Cole heading towards him. He waved tiredly, stopping to wait for Cole to reach him.

"What, no Sammy this morning?" Cole asked when he was close enough, nudging Baird playfully.

"Can't find her," Baird said, just barely stifling a yawn. "Thought she might be with Anya."

"I'll help you look," Cole offered. "Unlike _some_ people, I was up early and already ate."

"Why? McLintock hasn't got you running bullshit errands too, has he?"

Cole shook his head. "Nah, thrashball practice. Almost got enough people interested for a tournament. Spots are filling up real fast, but if you ask nicely I'll let you on my team."

Baird rolled his eyes, though he was secretly pleased for Cole. His friend had enlisted before the draft forced the elite out of their cushy jobs and into the army, and even though Cole said that joining up had been a no-brainer, Baird always got the impression that Cole missed the game. As the war had dragged on and on, there hadn't exactly been a lot of time for recreation. Although Baird would never admit this to anyone, Cole was one of the best thrashball players the sport had ever seen; back when Baird used to watch the games, before he'd known Cole personally, he'd always hoped The Cole Train might get traded to the Sharks.

"We'll see," Baird said. "I don't know if I could handle your ego for a whole tournament."

Cole guffawed at that. "_My_ ego? Oh baby, I can't just let that slide."

They gave each other a good ribbing all the way to Marcus and Anya's room in Pinnacle Tower. The whole way there, Baird was mentally preparing for the witty one-liner he'd use when he found Sam and Anya hanging out _again_. He got that Sam needed girl time, he really did—Bernie was the only female company she had back in Kashkur—but he was also starting to miss her. It wasn't like he was doing the best job of intentionally spending time with her (thanks to Dr. Austen and Major McLintock), and maybe that needed to change.

Anya answered the door when Cole knocked, dressed in her fatigues. Baird peered around her into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam.

"Hi guys," Anya said. "If you're looking for Marcus, he's in a meeting with Sharle all afternoon."

"Nope, we're here for this man's girlfriend." Cole clapped Baird on the shoulder. "Seen Sammy today?"

Shaking her head, Anya stepped out into the hall. "I haven't seen her since before she left for her night patrol yesterday. Did you guys check the mess?"

"Yeah, that was my first stop," Baird said, making a concentrated effort to control his facial expressions. He would _not_ freak out just because Sam hadn't been beside him in bed this morning. Azura was a big island and Sam was a social butterfly; there were plenty of people she could be with other than Anya.

"I can ask Aigle to see where she is," Anya suggested. "It'll take five seconds."

"Sure, fine." Baird shrugged noncommittally. His tac-com. Now why hadn't he thought of that? He mentally slapped himself. Man, he was really out of it this morning.

"Here, I'll patch you guys in." Anya pressed a finger to her ear. "Aigle, this is Stroud. Can you get me Corporal Byrne's GID reading?"

The radio operator didn't answer right away, and Baird could hear a few clicks in the background as Corporal Aigle typed something on his keyboard. Then, _"That's odd. I'm not getting a reading for her or Carmine."_

"Did Byrne and Carmine check in with you after their patrol last night?"

"_Um, no. I just assumed they went straight to bed. The last few night shifts forgot to report in."_

There was a growing tightness in Baird's stomach as he listened to the exchange between Anya and Aigle. He should have known something was wrong the instant he woke up alone. _Of course_ Sam would have waited for him before going for breakfast. How much time had he wasted wandering around the Solarium when he could have been out on the island looking for her?

"Which route were they running?" Anya asked.

"_Looks like it was Route Charlie. I can send you the details."_

"No need, I've had that route. Thanks, Aigle." Anya turned to Baird. "There's no reason to panic yet."

"Right," he said, not believing that for a second.

* * *

Nobody spoke the whole way to the beach. Anya had radioed Marcus and filled him in, and they'd both agreed not to sound the alarm (read: tell McLintock) until they'd done a sweep of Sam and Carmine's patrol route. Cole kept shooting Baird sympathetic glances, which were doing more to annoy him than assuage any of his concerns. He knew it was bad, deep down in his bones. Sam hadn't made it back to their bed last night, and he'd been too stupid to notice that that meant something was wrong.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

His heart was hammering so hard under his ribs he thought it might explode out of his chest. He didn't know what he'd find down on the beach. Signs of a struggle, Sam unconscious, a body—

No. No, he couldn't allow himself to think that way, not if he didn't know for sure.

"There!"

Baird jerked his head in the direction Cole was pointing. As soon as he saw what had raised the alarm, a knife of fear stabbed into his gut. There was a still form lying on the beach; even from this far away, Baird could tell it was Carmine. The waves were lapping at his ankles.

"Shit," Baird said, and started running.

While Cole and Anya went straight for Carmine, Baird rushed past him to try and get a better view of the shoreline and the trees. The logical part of his brain warned him that he wouldn't see anything, but he wasn't thinking logically at the moment. His rationality was completely overwhelmed with a desperate panic. Sam. Where the hell was Sam?

"_Sam!_" Baird was so cliché as to cup his hands around his mouth. "_SAM!_"

There was no answer. Just the breaking of the waves on the sand and the cries of seagulls in the distance.

"Hey, he's coming around!"

Reluctantly, Baird stopped his futile scanning of the trees. He felt a distant twinge of guilt that he hadn't even stopped to check if Carmine was breathing; the man could have been missing his head and Baird wouldn't have noticed. All that he'd cared about in that moment was that Carmine was there and Sam wasn't. He hurried back to Cole and Anya; sure enough, Carmine had begun to twitch and moan on the sand. The second his eyes opened, Baird grabbed Carmine by the shoulders and gripped him tightly.

"_Sam_." Baird couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice. "Where is she?"

"Sam?" Carmine took a long blink. "What? Where am… What time…?"

"Give him a minute, Baird," Anya said. She sounded so goddamn calm; _how_ could she be so composed? "Clay, you've been attacked. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Fuck, sorry. I'm just having a hard time remembering…"

Baird folded his arms across his chest, drumming his fingers impatiently on his bicep. Yes, he could sympathize with Carmine—he too had been ambushed and knocked out only days ago. But Carmine was the last person to see Sam. He _had_ to know what had happened to her.

Carmine shook his head, as if that could somehow help his memory. "I thought I saw something… When I went to check it out, I got grabbed. They stuck something in my neck before I knew what the hell was happening… held onto me as I passed out."

Unable to listen silently any longer, Baird jumped in. "But what about Sam?"

Cole placed a hand on Baird's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze and a warning look. Baird huffed, turning away slightly. _Yeah, I know; don't rush him. But I'm going to go out of my mind if I don't get answers soon._

"Can you remember anything else?" Anya prompted. "Did you hear them say anything? Did—"

"I think I saw some shapes heading towards the water," Carmine said suddenly. "One of them might have been carrying something."

Baird screwed his eyes shut as those words punched holes into his chest. Gone. Sam was gone, taken by the same people who had stolen Austen's research and they were _no closer_ to tracking down. The Stranded on the mainland didn't know anything about it, and security camera footage only caught a few brief images of the kid who'd jumped Baird. They had nothing to go on, no clue where to look—or even _who_ to look for.

And now these people, whoever the hell they were, had Sam.

Baird felt like he was going to vomit.

Anya, having plenty of practice keeping a level head during tense situations, was already talking to Marcus on her earpiece. On the inside, Baird was reeling, but he'd locked down his exterior: his eyes were staring blankly ahead, focused on nothing; his body had gone completely rigid. None of Anya's words were making it past his protective shell. He'd forced his brain to turn off, forced the walls of apathy up, just for a few minutes, so he wouldn't have to face the unbearable truth. There was a crushing void under his ribs, a blinding terror, but he was very deliberately _not thinking_ about why he was feeling it.

"Baird? Hey, listen."

Cole's voice snapped Baird out of his trance. He forced himself to look at Cole.

"This isn't your fault."

And with that, his protective barrier fractured like glass. He scoffed, only to stop himself from screaming. "You can _not_ tell me that. You honestly think it's a coincidence that _I'm_ the one working on Austen's fucking research and _Sam_ gets taken?" His face twisted into a grimace. "No. No frigging way. This is on me."

"We don't know that." Cole was using his best soothing tone, and it was getting all over Baird's last nerve. "They might have just pegged Sam as an easier target."

_You just keep telling yourself that. This is my fucking fault, I know it._ But there was nothing to be gained in arguing with Cole now. Even though Baird _knew_ this was because of him, he just nodded along to appease his friend.

"Marcus is on his way down here with a search party," Anya said.

_Waste of time. She's not on the island. We've got no fucking idea where she might be._

They were all looking at him now, faces full of sympathy and concern. He had to resist the urge to turn away. His pulse beat thickly in his veins.

"We'll find her," Cole said, but he couldn't quite hide the hesitancy in his voice.

Baird nodded. Managed to swallow the lump in his throat. By the time Marcus, Jace and Rojas arrived on the beach, Baird had shut himself down again. The walls were back up; he couldn't deal with this, not yet. Not while his friends were around.

He had to be strong—for himself and for Sam. He couldn't let his emotions control him. If he wanted to save Sam, he had to be the rational, distant asshole everyone expected him to be.


	7. Far From Here

**[Author's Note] **So part of me likes AO3 better just because of the tagging system. It's easier to give people a head's up to stuff they might not want to read about. THAT BEING SAID this chapter is where things start to get... dark. I'm going to do my best to try and keep it vague, but there will be descriptions of and references to torture in the following chapters. FYI.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Far From Here**

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 24 Frost 17 A.E.**

The first thing Sam became aware of was the cool, dank air surrounding her.

She was still swimming in darkness, a thick, drug-induced fog blanketing her mind. Dimly, she thought she was supposed to be scared, but she couldn't quite remember why.

Feeling slowly ebbed back into her body: a dull ache in her hip, a dry taste in her mouth, her arms pulled behind her back. Odd. She never slept like that. Groaning, she went to stretch, and found that her wrists were tied together.

A moment of blind panic—and then the memories came crashing in.

_Oh, bugger me._

Sam slowly opened her eyes, just a little bit frightened of what she would see. It turned out she didn't have to be scared; she could barely see anything. The only source of light in the room was an eerie blue glow coming from some strange-looking fungus. Sam's heart sank as she realised that she recognized that plant. She'd seen it before—inside the Hollow.

_How the bloody hell did I get back here?_

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Sam took stock of her surroundings. The walls of her tiny cell were clearly made of rock, like the room had been carved out of the stone. Aside from the luminous plants, there was nothing else in her cell, not even a pallet for her to lie on, which explained the soreness in her hip. The only way in or out appeared to be a single metal door. She wasn't wearing her armour anymore, which was more than a little disconcerting.

_Okay, don't panic. Think this through logically, like Baird would. They could have easily killed me on the beach, so the fact that I'm still alive means they want something from me._

Sam tried not to be alarmed by Clay's absence. Her abductors had jabbed a needle full of _something_ in her neck to knock her out; there was no reason to suspect Clay had been treated any differently. Maybe he was here somewhere, in another alcove, waking up confused and disoriented as well.

No light, no windows. She had no idea what time it was, or how much time had passed since the attack on the beach. It must have been at least a few hours; she obviously wasn't on Azura any longer, and whatever she'd been dosed with had kept her unconscious for transport back to the mainland. If Baird hadn't noticed she was gone yet, he soon would.

That thought comforted her—that Baird would be out looking for her.

_Right, no time to get sentimental. Get up, Byrne, and see if you can see anything useful._

With her hands bound behind her back, getting to her feet was no easy task. Still slightly groggy from the lingering effects of the drug, Sam tipped sideways and crashed into the wall. She managed to jerk her head back, and her shoulder took the brunt of the impact; the rough rock wall scraped angry red lines along her exposed skin.

"Buggering fuck," Sam swore, and then grimaced at how scratchy her own voice felt in her throat.

Still, she was standing now, so mission accomplished. Although now that she was on her feet, she didn't know what she was expecting to find. It didn't take her more than twenty steps to walk the circumference of the room. No secret escape tunnel to be discovered, evidently.

_Brilliant. Now what?_

A good kick couldn't hurt, so that's what she did. Unfortunately, without her sturdy Gear boots, her foot just kind of bounced off the metal door.

_Right, let's not do that again or I'll break my bloody ankle._

No other way in or out, unless she felt like trying to scrape a tunnel into the rocks. Even if her hands weren't cuffed behind her back, that didn't seem likely. There was nothing else to do but sit and wait for whoever had taken her to show up and do whatever they intended to do. Gingerly, Sam sat back down on the floor and crossed her legs. She couldn't do anything—or even _think about_ doing anything—until she had more information, and she wasn't going to learn anything else about this room.

_Let's go over what I know: I've been abducted, not killed, so I'm valuable to these people… whoever they are. I'm not on Azura—back on the mainland, somewhere with access to a non-flooded part of the Hollow. A mountain range in Tyrus, maybe? Baird and the others will be looking for me and Carmine. Maybe I can figure out a way to contact them somehow. But I need to get out of this cell to do that._

She didn't have to wait long.

Footsteps were approaching, and by the sound of it there was more than one person. Sam straightened her posture and made her face go blank; whoever was coming wouldn't see any trace of fear in her expression. If she could throw them off, maybe she could do… _something_. She took a deep breath as the footsteps stopped just outside her door. Whatever came inside, she wouldn't react.

The door opened and two people stepped inside—a man and a woman, both wearing long white lab coats. _Scientists?_ Sam thought, keeping her face straight. _Armed goons I was expecting, not… boffins._

"Miss Byrne." The woman smiled pleasantly at Sam, like she was a receptionist and this was a waiting room. "I'm pleased to see you're awake this time."

"So you know my name." Sam would have folded her arms across her chest if she could. "Do I get to know yours?"

"Oh, of course. My name is Lana Platt, and my colleague here is Korso Rourke."

The man, Rourke, didn't look very much like a scientist; he was scruffy and muscular, almost too big for the lab coat. He stepped towards Sam, his face expressionless, but there was something in his eyes that made her skin crawl.

"Help Miss Byrne stand up, would you, Korso?" Platt said. Her voice was high and girlish.

"It's _Corporal_ Byrne, thank you very much," Sam grumbled as Rourke hauled her to her feet.

They led Sam out of her cell and down a corridor, lit only by a series of tiny electric lights. She tried to distract herself from the growing fear in her gut by taking in as much information as she could. Unfortunately, being outside her prison didn't provide her with anything useful. She was definitely underground, and this structure was slightly more complicated than she had initially thought; there were various hallways snaking off from the one she was being led through. But nowhere did she see a light that might be the surface, or even a tunnel that looked like it might lead to an exit. These scientists would know the network of tunnels better than she did. Even if she could give them the slip, they would probably catch up to her before she got her bearings.

Eventually they stopped at another metal door. Platt punched in a code to open it while Rourke gripped Sam's shoulder. Sam hoped they were picking up Clay; it would be easier for her to keep up her calm façade with someone else around. However, when Platt opened the door and Rourke bodily shoved Sam inside, she saw that the room was empty except for a table and chair, and a camera pointing at the furniture. A pair of handcuffs was attached to both of the chair's legs, and there was a manila envelope resting on the table.

_Fantastic._

"Where's Carmine?" Sam asked, while Rourke handcuffed her to the chair.

"Your friend on the beach?" Platt didn't sound at all interested. "Where we left him, I expect. I hope the tide didn't come in too fast."

Sam tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted into a knot. So she was alone here. She supposed she should be grateful that Clay wasn't in danger, but a selfish part of her wished that he had been taken too. Then she wouldn't have to suffer through whatever these people had planned by herself.

Still, she steeled herself and took what she hoped was a subtle, steadying breath through her nose. "So why exactly am I here?"

"Your relationship to Sergeant Baird, of course," Platt said, picking up the envelope from the table.

"Baird?" Sam tried to look confused; maybe she could bluff her way out of this. "I barely know him."

Platt chuckled. "Would you like to look at these, then?"

From the envelope, Platt pulled out a stack of glossy papers and laid them out on the table in front of Sam. They were photographs, taken—Sam's stomach dropped. Pictures from _Anvegad_, of her and Baird, holding hands, smiling at one another, all from various seasons. The last one looked like a still from the security camera feed at Azura. It was from last night; Sam was holding her fingers up to Baird's lips as he tried to lean in for one more kiss.

"So," Platt said, "as much as you want us to believe that the sergeant was just another notch in your bedpost, we know differently."

_Great, I bollocksed that up._ Sam kept her face neutral. "You've made your point. So what does Baird have to do with anything?"

Instead of answering, Platt walked over to the camera and switched it on. "Would you kindly state your name and the date for the record, Miss Byrne?"

"How am I supposed to know what bloody day it is?"

Platt smiled tightly. "It's the day after your patrol, if that helps."

"Loads, thanks." Sam flashed her own sardonic smile. "_Corporal_ Samantha Byrne, and it's Frost twenty-fourth."

"Thank you. And now, would you please give us the keyword for Dr. Austen's research?"

_Keyword? What is she on about?_ Sam opened her mouth to say she didn't know anything about a keyword, but then snapped it shut abruptly. _Hang on._ Baird had theorized that Austen's notes were written in some kind of code, and now she knew that the code required a keyword to decipher it. These people had abducted her because they thought she would be useful to them—they thought that Baird had cracked the code, and that he'd told her what the keyword was.

_I'm alive because they think I can help them. If they find out that I don't know anything, there's no point in keeping me around._

Sam made a snap decision in that moment. She had absolutely no idea what the keyword was, but she had a better chance of staying alive long enough for Baird to find her if these scientists thought that she _did_ know and was just refusing to tell them.

She snorted scathingly. "Do you really expect me to tell you?"

"Perhaps not right away," Platt said sweetly. "But after some… _persuasion_, I think you'll be willing to talk. Korso, if you would."

Rourke stepped forward, his stride eager and aggressive. Sam swallowed her fear and glared up at him.

_I will not flinch. I will not scream. I _will _be strong._

She knew it was coming, but the blow still took her by surprise. With lightning speed, Rourke backhanded her across the mouth. Her teeth smashed together, inadvertently biting down on her tongue as stars exploded in her eyes. While the stinging on her cheek hurt like hell, it was nothing she hadn't experienced before.

"Is that the best you can do?" Sam asked, sneering up at them.

"Oh no, my dear," Platt said. "This is just a warm-up."

Sam's defiant smirk flickered slightly. _Me and my big mouth._


	8. Carve Your Heart

**Chapter Seven: Carve Your Heart**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 24 Frost 17 A.E.**

Telling Hoffman was not pleasant.

One of the most recent technological advances—which Baird had helped develop—was that of video conferencing. Now, instead of just voices travelling across the ocean, you could actually _see_ the person you were talking to. It had been great when Baird had finally got it working—weeks and weeks of work finally paying off.

But now, as Baird was forced to watch Hoffman's face change as Marcus told the colonel what had happened, Baird almost wished he'd never got the cameras working in the first place. Bernie stood silently behind Hoffman, her face a tableau of distress.

_"I see,"_ Hoffman said, when Marcus had finished explaining. _"And there was no trace?"_

"None," Marcus confirmed. "Just like when Baird was attacked."

McLintock, ever the sensitive one, decided now was the time to butt in. "We _will_ find out how these people got on Azura—_twice_—undetected. You have my word, colonel."

Baird couldn't help but notice how McLintock made no mention of getting Sam back. He opened his mouth to snap at the major, but Marcus shot him a look, as if to say _It's not worth it._

_"I can send some Gears over to help bolster your search of the mainland,"_ Hoffman said.

"Thank you, sir," Marcus said. "We'll take all the help we can get."

_"Keep me updated."_

"Of course, sir."

As Hoffman reached to switch off the screen, something seemed to occur to him. He paused, and his eyes flicked from Marcus to Baird. _"Bring her home,"_ the colonel said roughly. _"Do everything you can."_

Baird nodded. "I will." _Like I need you to tell me that._

Just as Hoffman cut the connection, Bernie placed a hand on his shoulder.

When the screen went black, Baird sighed and let his shoulders slump. This was happening; this was _really_ happening. It wasn't just a prolonged bad dream. They'd told Hoffman, been given orders, and now… what? What the fuck did Baird do _now_? Something important was hidden in Austen's notes but he didn't have those anymore, and the bits that he'd copied out weren't long enough to be useful to him. Maybe there was something in the diary, but going back to the lab and _reading_ just felt so futile and helpless. He wanted to be out there on a Raven, scanning the mainland, looking for something—_anything_—that pointed to where Sam had been taken. If he could just—

The black screen flickered briefly. Baird, Marcus and McLintock all exchanged a look, all silently asking _did you see that too_? Baird barely had time to wonder if it was just a glitch in the system before the black gave way to a fuzzy, snowy image. After a few seconds, the image cleared up.

_The hell?_

A man was staring out of the monitor at them, an amused smile on his lips. He looked old but not elderly, probably in his early seventies. His face was oval-shaped, with a high forehead that was barely covered by thinning grey hair. Round glasses with thick black frames rested on his hooked nose.

McLintock was the first to recover. He started towards the monitor, confusion and fury mixing on his face. In any other circumstance, Baird would have found it comical. "This is a _secure frequency_," the major said. "I _demand_ that you explain—"

_"Sergeant Baird,"_ the man said, looking straight past McLintock. _"How nice to finally meet you. My name is Ira Samson."_

Icicles formed on Baird's spine. This man knew his name and his new rank, which was a relatively recent promotion. And the last name… Samson. If Baird hadn't just been digging through information about New Hope, he doubted he would have picked up on that eerie coincidence.

As Baird opened his mouth to speak, Marcus stepped in front of him, partially obscuring his view of the man on the screen.

"How do you know his name?" Marcus growled.

Samson continued as if he hadn't heard Marcus. _"Now that you've finished reporting Miss Byrne's disappearance, I thought you might be willing to talk."_

A red-hot rage boiled up in Baird's chest. This guy had Sam. He'd taken her and he was holding her somewhere and now he was taunting Baird with a pleasant, conversational tone. "Where is she?" Baird snarled, pushing Marcus out of his way.

_"I'm afraid I can't answer that. At least, not until you give me what I want."_

"And what the fuck do you want?"

_"Such language! But no matter. What I want, Sergeant, is the keyword for the cipher that Dr. Austen used to encrypt her research findings."_

"Keyword? I don't know anything about—"

"_I would advise you not to lie to me. I have something valuable to you, and I am not afraid to use that to my advantage."_

His hands curled into anxious, angry fists. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."

_"A rather empty threat, as I've hurt her already and yet I'm still alive."_

Those words left Baird so staggered that he couldn't think of a comeback. Primal, base feelings coursed through his body—fury, panic, bewilderment. Sam had been gone for fourteen hours; what had these bastards managed to do to her in that amount of time?

_"While you contemplate giving me the information I desire, I'm going to play something my colleagues made earlier today."_

Again, before Baird had time to form a coherent sentence out of the string of profanities swimming in his head, the screen flickered and the picture changed. Ira Samson's smiling face disappeared, and what replaced it made Baird's heart leap into his throat.

It was a grainy, out-of-focus image of Sam sitting in a chair, her arms hanging stiffly by her sides. She was staring defiantly at the camera, but Baird knew her too well; he could see her fear in her rigid posture and the slight crease in her forehead. He had an almost overwhelming, irrational urge to throw himself at the monitor, as if he could climb through the screen and transport himself to her.

_"Would you kindly state your name and the date for the record?"_ a female voice asked from off-screen.

_"How am I supposed to know what the bloody date is?"_ Sam snapped. Baird only just managed to hold back a relieved, choked laugh. She was alive. She was tough and angry and pissed off and _alive_. He hadn't allowed himself to consciously think it—that they might have—but somewhere, deep in the pessimistic part of his brain, he'd worried that she might already be—It didn't matter; he could see her now and she was giving her captors lip so she had to be doing okay.

_It's a recording_, a part of him thought. _You don't know what they did to her after that camera switched off._

_"It's the day after your patrol, if that helps,"_ the woman's voice said.

_"Loads, thanks."_ Sam smirked at someone off to the side. _"_Corporal_ Samantha Byrne, and it's Frost twenty-fourth."_

_"Thank you. And now, would you please give us the keyword for Dr. Austen's research?"_

Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second and Baird saw the uncertainty flicker across her face. _They're asking _her_ about the keyword?_ These people assumed that Baird had cracked whatever code the notes were written in. They'd taken Sam because they somehow knew that she was important to him, important enough that he would have told her anything he discovered…

_Just tell them you don't know—that _I _didn't know. They'll hold you hostage but I'll come._

But Sam completely surprised him by answering, _"Do you really expect me to tell you?"_

The bottom dropped right out of Baird's stomach. What the hell was she _doing?_ He wanted to scream at her image on the monitor to stop being an idiot.

_"Perhaps not right away,"_ came the answer. _"But after some… _persuasion_, I think you'll be willing to talk. Korso, if you would."_

A man stepped in to the camera's field of view. He was _big_, obviously the muscle, meant to intimidate. Baird kept hoping that Sam would smarten up, realise she was making a horrible mistake by pretending to know something she didn't, but he knew that she was stubborn; once she made a decision, she stuck to it, no matter the outcome.

And then the man—Korso—smacked Sam across the face.

The cold shock of surprise hit Baird so hard that it was almost as if he had been slapped. He knew it was coming but _still_… the way she had squeezed her eyes shut just before impact, the tiny, automatic gasp that escaped her mouth, the _sound_ when the fist made contact… Baird was shaking where he stood.

Sam gave her head a little shake before sneering up at the camera, her lip curling up to reveal a bloody smile. _"Is that the best you can do?"_

Baird wanted to scream at her. _Don't taunt them, you moron! Keep your frigging mouth shut, for the love of god._

_"Oh no, my dear. This is just a warm-up."_

He was tempted to close his eyes, but he couldn't do that to her. _She_ couldn't just squeeze her eyes shut and pretend it wasn't happening; he didn't have the right to do anything less. Besides, this was _his fault_. He had to watch, to bear witness to the consequences of his choices—his failure.

_I'm so sorry._

He watched as Korso backhanded her again, flinching involuntarily as Sam grunted in pain. Her jaw was clamped shut but Baird could see blood in the corners of her mouth.

_"Changed your mind yet?"_ the woman's sweet voice asked.

_Tell them the truth. Please just tell them the truth. Stop martyring yourself for my sake._

Sam didn't answer; instead she tensed up her whole body to prepare for the next onslaught. It came with a vengeance. Korso didn't stick to her face. His fists roamed up and down her body, looking for any weak spot. When he found one—because Sam couldn't help but whimper slightly in the face of that much pain—he went at it with a sickening energy. But not once did Sam scream or cry out. If she had, Baird doubted he could have stopped himself from ripping the monitor off the wall and smashing it into a thousand pieces.

Abruptly, a different voice chimed in: _"I think that's enough for today."_ It was Samson. _"We don't want to give her brain damage, Mr. Rourke."_

Korso reluctantly dropped his raised fist and moved off to the side, and Baird let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Sam was slumped forward in the chair, the restraints on her wrists the only things keeping her from sliding onto the floor. She struggled to raise her head and looked straight in to the camera. Her expression was one of determination—but Baird could also see the pleading behind it. _Help me,_ her eyes implored him, _don't leave me here._

The image—her haunting eyes—froze for a few seconds before Samson's face was suddenly staring out at them again. _"I will contact you again in two days,"_ he said in his friendly voice._ "I do hope that by then you'll have reconsidered your answer."_

Baird was going to cave the bastard's skull in. "I told you, I don't know—!"

But Ira Samson was gone. There was nothing left but a black screen.

Marcus placed a hand on Baird's shoulder and Baird nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd forgotten about Marcus and McLintock, forgotten they were in the room with him and watching _everything_. Baird looked over at Marcus; while Sergeant Major Fenix wasn't known for being the most expressive man in the world, Baird could see the telltale signs of worry on Marcus's face: the tightness in his jaw, his lips pressed together, and his piercing blue stare—there was no keeping the concern out of his eyes.

"She's alive," Marcus said slowly, deliberately, like he was speaking to a crying child, "and now we have something to go on."

Baird swallowed and nodded, wishing for the emotional distance his walls of apathy usually brought him. "I can probably guess the answer, but can we trace that?"

Marcus shook his head and Baird tried not to be disappointed. "I can check with Walker and Aigle, but I don't think so."

"Yeah, okay. I figured." _I know what I have to do._

As Marcus opened his mouth to say something else, Baird turned on his heel and headed for the door. He didn't want to hear hollow words of encouragement from anyone, especially Marcus. It was taking everything he had to keep himself from completely falling apart.

McLintock was still standing at the back of the comms room, arms folded across his chest. He eyed Baird suspiciously. "Sergeant, I hope you're not seriously considering handing this keyword over to these people. We know nothing about them."

_I know they have Sam; that's all that matters._ "Of course I'm not going to just give it to them!" Baird snapped. "But you wanted those notes deciphered and I need a bargaining chip."

Now that he knew what he was looking for, there was absolutely _nothing_ that was going to stand in his way. He'd figure this out; he _had _to.


	9. Sicker Things

**Chapter Eight: Sicker Things**

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 29 Frost 17 A.E.**

The metallic taste of copper trickled down her throat. But the blood in her mouth was warm at least, so that was a strange kind of comfort.

Rourke hit her with another blast of ice-cold water. It shot out of the hose with such force that it felt as though a thousand tiny knives were puncturing her skin every second. Her teeth were chattering so much that she thought she might crack a molar or two.

"Had enough yet?" Rourke shouted over the roar of the water.

Sam clenched her jaw. _I will not scream._ So far she'd kept her promise; it would be a shame to break it now just because she was wet and cold. _Nothing new for me. Remember that time back in Kinnerlake when you had to wade through the water from that burst pipe? At least this water is clean, and there aren't grubs shooting at you._

Besides, the camera was on—and she knew damn well who was getting these recordings. She didn't want to cause Baird any more pain… and concentrating on that, on keeping her reactions as subdued as she could, gave her purpose.

The jet of water moved from her chest up to her face. It was choking; she couldn't breathe. She began to cough and splutter, desperately trying to suck in air, but with every attempted breath she just inhaled more water. She was going to drown on her knees with her hands raised above her, secured to the chain hanging from the ceiling. How undignified.

"Enough!"

The water pummelled her face for a few more seconds. Then, mercifully, it stopped, and she could breathe again. She sucked in an enormous gulp of air and immediately began coughing up the water that had made it into her lungs.

Samson was standing at the back of the room, arms folded across his chest. Sam hadn't noticed him come in; she wondered how long he'd been watching. Maybe he thought stopping this would somehow endear him to her, like she somehow owed him for sparing her. _Fat chance, fuckstick. _She wasn't going to fall for their mind games.

"So," Samson began. "Miss Byrne—"

"_Corporal_," she corrected, pleased with how annoyed she sounded.

Samson's face flashed. Apparently he didn't like to be interrupted. Good to know. "Hmm, yes. Have you reconsidered your refusal to our request?"

"Let me think…" Sam shook her head, trying to get the wet hair out of her face. "Uh, no. But nice try."

"Very well. Korso, if you'd help her up, we'll escort her back to her quarters."

Sam tensed up as Rourke stepped towards her. She was trying to hate all of her captors equally, but Rourke was special. He didn't have that prim and proper attitude like the rest; there was something about him that seriously freaked her out. And she hated the way he stared at her.

Rourke unhooked her handcuffs from the hanging chain and Sam immediately collapsed to her knees. She'd lost the feeling in both of her arms—which she hadn't noticed before because of the cold jet of water blasting her in the face—and now sensation was slowly stinging back into her limbs with each heartbeat. She stumbled as Rourke dragged her to her feet, his nails digging in to her skin. He held her close as they walked back to her cell—too close. His breath settled on her neck and she had to resist the urge to knee him in the groin.

She could do it, she knew. She could bring him to the floor with one easy movement. But the punishment, whatever it would be, wouldn't be worth the few moments of satisfaction she'd get as she watched him writhe in pain at her feet.

Samson punched in the code to her cell door and opened it. Rourke shoved her forward and she tripped over her feet, sending to the ground. She grunted, but didn't hiss in pain. At least her hands were cuffed in front of her now—she'd mostly broken her fall.

She was shivering violently, but she just couldn't get warm. The Hollow's chilly air and her sopping clothes weren't helping at all. _Maybe I'll freeze to death and this will all be over._

_Stop it! Don't think like that, like death would somehow be a blessing._

Samson noticed her shaking. "Get her a blanket, Korso. She'll be of no use to us if she contracts hypothermia."

Rourke lingered by the doorway, his eyes bright. "You know what they say about wet clothes…"

Sam scrabbled backwards, away from the door.

"_No._" Samson's voice had lost its usual conversational tone; he sounded generally angry. "I will _not_ tolerate that kind of barbaric thinking. Send Gosse back with some clothes and a blanket, and then report to my office."

"Yes, sir."

But Rourke still lingered for a few more moments before finally closing the door. Sam had never been so glad to be locked away in her entire life.

It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dim blue light of her cell. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, still shuddering. She wondered who this Gosse was; she'd been here for five days now and she assumed that she'd at least _seen_ all of the scientists. But she couldn't recall a Gosse being mentioned before.

There was a soft knock at the door. Sam snapped her head up and immediately tensed her body. Just because Samson had ordered Rourke away didn't mean that she was safe from him. Then the door opened and someone stepped inside. Sam breathed a sigh of relief; she could tell from the silhouette against the hallway's lights that this person wasn't Rourke.

It was a kid. As he stepped closer, Sam got a better look at him: probably no older than fifteen, gangly, with brown hair that hung across his face like a curtain. With a pang, she realised this must be the same person who had attacked Baird—who had started all this.

_Damon._ The thought of him sent a stab of longing into her chest. No, she couldn't think about him. Tears were already welling up, blurring her vision. She blinked them back quickly.

The kid was carrying a tray of food, and a thick blanket was draped over his arm. Sam had to stop herself from automatically leaning towards the quilt. He placed the metal tray on the ground, slowly and carefully. The slight clatter of metal on rock alerted Sam to the fact that his hands were shaking. _Is he afraid of me?_ Her musing was interrupted as he tossed the blanket towards her. She snatched it up greedily, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling it close. Her wet clothes were still unpleasantly cold against her skin, but this was an improvement. At least she wouldn't get hypothermia and die.

He was walking briskly towards the door. Sam decided to take a shot.

"Your name's Gosse?" she asked. He paused, looking back at her with unease evident in his eyes. "I'm Sam. Samantha."

He grasped his hands together tightly, chewed on his lower lip. Sam couldn't believe this was the same kid that had infiltrated Azura.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," he said finally.

Sam smiled. "What's the harm in telling me your name?"

Again, he stared at her for a long moment. Then he checked over his shoulder quickly. "Yes," he said. "My name is Gosse."

"Thank you for the blanket, Gosse."

His mouth opened and closed a few times. She didn't know if he was struggling for words or fighting the instructions to not speak to her. Then his mouth snapped shut, jaw set, and he darted out of the cell, slamming the door behind him. Sam heard the lock slide in to place.

It hadn't been a particularly long conversation, but that didn't matter. She'd got him talking. And he'd disobeyed Samson in doing so. It was a start. She could work with that.

* * *

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 29 Frost 17 A.E.**

"Baby, you need to take a break."

Baird pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. If Cole said that one more goddamn time, he was going to scream.

"How the frigging _hell_ am I supposed to take a break when I know that Sam's out there and those bastards are doing god knows _what_ to her?"

To his left, Cole gave him a sympathetic look; Baird had to resist punching him. "I know, I know, but if you run yourself ragged, you won't be able to think straight and you won't be any use to anyone."

Baird sighed angrily. Cole was right; he _knew_ Cole was right—the brain needed rest to process information and recover the damage done to it during the day—but he couldn't just close his eyes and take a lovely nap, not when Sam was…

"You don't have to sleep for twelve hours," Cole said gently. "Just an hour. Heck, _half _an hour."

Baird had been working on what few lines of Austen's research he still had in his possession. Now that he knew the scientists were looking for a keyword, he could make a good guess as to the type of cipher used to encrypt the notes. It was some form of polyalphabetic substitution: each letter was shifted along a number of places, creating a ciphertext that looked like gibberish. If Baird could find the keyword, he could create a _tabula recta _and work backwards to decrypt Austen's notes.

But _knowing_ what he had to do was a far cry from _doing_ it. His eyes were dry and burning from lack of blinking, his back was killing him, he had ink smudges on his fingers and _none of that mattered_. He had to work this out—Sam was depending on him. Was he really going to complain about a sore back after the recording that had been sent to him this afternoon?

"Cole, I can't just—"

"Damon." Great, now he was in for it. "You haven't slept in three days. Even if you did somehow stumble across a breakthrough, would you even be able to recognise it at this point?"

Baird's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine. I'll take a power nap."

"I'll walk you back to the Acanthus."

"_No._" Baird winced; that came out more forcefully than he intended. "No. I can't… Not in that room, not when she's not…"

"Hey, that's fine. I'm sure Marcus can requisition a cot for the lab. So long as you get some rest."

"Yeah, great. You go talk to him about it and I'll just stay here and work on this."

Cole stared at him for a long moment, seemingly considering whether nor not it was a good idea to leave Baird alone. Like he would eat a pistol if he were left without Cole's constant, annoying cheerleading for five minutes.

"I promise I will take a break when you get back here with a cot." _It will take him at least ten minutes to find Marcus, hopefully thirty minutes to find a bed and bring it back here. That gives me approximately forty minutes. I can solve this in forty minutes. Then I won't need a fucking cot._

"All right." Cole got to his feet and headed towards the door. "I'll be back soon."

Baird waved him off, turning back to Austen's journal. The answer was in here—he could feel it in his gut. Somewhere, hidden in the too-perfect, cursive writing was the key to Sam's freedom. If he just looked a little closer, read every single world deliberately and slowly, a pattern would emerge. He'd find it. There wasn't another option.

Sam had believed he could crack it. She had been so sure, so confident, like it was as easy as breathing for him. And he'd warned her; he wasn't infallible, he still made mistakes… But he couldn't fail this time. It couldn't be like Prescott's data disc. What was on the line now was so much more precious than humanity's future…

Sam's words haunted him: _"You'll figure it out; you always do."_

She had trusted him so much. And now, every second that he didn't figure this out he was letting her down.

He flipped the journal open to the first page and began to read the first entry again.

* * *

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 29 Frost 17 A.E.**

He'd talked to her.

He wasn't supposed to talk to the prisoner. His father had been very clear in his directions. _"Not one word,"_ his father had said. But Gosse had disobeyed him. Eleven words.

_He doesn't have to know. There's no way he can find out._

But, standing alone in his room, Gosse was still wringing his hands. What if she told his father the next time they were together? The punishment would be ten times worse than when he'd dozed off monitoring Azura's communications.

_She just asked my name. I answered her. It can't be that big of a deal._

His father had been adamant, though. _"She will try to trick you, get you to sympathize with her, convince you to let her go. You must not speak to her."_

He wished he hadn't been the one to bring the food and blanket to the prisoner. But his mother and Dr. Morrow had been in the room Gosse wasn't allowed inside, and Dr. Ward was too busy running an experiment that couldn't wait. His father had needed to help Dr. Ward, and Dr. Rourke was not supposed to go near the prisoner anymore. Gosse didn't know why. And so it had fallen to him.

The prisoner. It felt weird to think of her like that now that he knew her name. _Samantha_. The word rolled off his tongue, felt warm and soft in his mouth. Much nicer than the cold, impersonal _the prisoner_ or _the hostage._

_Cut it out! Dad calls her the prisoner all the time. I can't use her name or he'll know that I talked to her._

Out loud. Gosse couldn't use her name _out loud_. But he could still think it.

_Samantha._

He wasn't supposed to think this about her, but she seemed nice. And pretty.


	10. Gears Keep Turning

**[Author's Note] **Wow, this chapter was hard to write for no reason at all. But it's done now. Yay!

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Gears Keep Turning**

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 30 Frost 17 A.E.**

"Get up. Now."

Sam jolted awake from her position on the floor. She blinked a couple times but before she could really grasp what was happening hands were on her shoulders and she was dragged up to her feet.

"Let's go."

That was Ward. Sam turned to look at the second person holding her and was slightly relieved to see that it was Morrow. Rourke's time-out still seemed to be in effect, thank god.

"Move!" Ward slammed his body against hers, sending her stumbling forward. She briefly entertained making a run for it, but then Morrow had hold of her arm.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Sam grumbled, projecting irritation to mask her fear. She wondered what it would be this time. A beating, a hosing down, the car battery? There was no pattern to the torture. If there were consistency, then at least she would be able to somewhat mentally prepare for it. And that was probably the point.

She was led down the same hallway that had become alarmingly familiar. When Morrow opened the door, she peered inside to get a glimpse of what was in the room. No tables full of horrific instruments, no hose, no cables. Just the single, solitary chair. But Rourke and Ira Samson stood at the back of the room.

A beating it was, then. She could handle that.

Ward forced her to sit down on the chair and secured her hands. As if she could run anywhere if she tried to escape. Even if she somehow managed to make it out of the Hollow, she had no idea where on Sera she was being held. It was highly unlikely she would be able to figure her way back to Azura before the scientists caught up to her.

Morrow and Ward backed off as Rourke came towards her. She tensed up her body, readying herself for the assault.

"Once again, Miss Byrne, I'll ask if you want to reconsider your decision to withhold the keyword?" Even from the back of the room, Samson's voice was clear.

Sam smiled sweetly. "Once again, I'll remind you that it's _Corporal_ Byrne, and I'm still good, thanks."

Samson shrugged, as if it didn't matter at all. "As you wish. It really would be much easier for you if you just told us, you know. We will get those notes deciphered one way or another."

As Rourke raised his hand, a sinister gleam in his eyes, a thought struck Sam. She decided to take a shot and looked at Samson as she blurted out, "What's even in the notes anyway? What's so bloody important?"

Samson gazed at her for a long while, as if measuring something. Then he waved Rourke off, and Sam let herself relax slightly. "The survival of a species," Samson said. "I know you ignorant Gears have been taught to hate the children and view them as evil, but even your precious Adam Fenix wanted to save them. He didn't want his cure for lambency to destroy the children."

"The children?" Sam remembered what Baird had told her about New Hope Research Facility and Niles Samson. Suddenly everything clicked in to place. "You mean the Locust? You want to bring the grubs back?"

Samson's faced darkened at the word _grubs_. "We want to bring _the_ _children_ back, yes."

"But why? What could you possibly gain from that?"

Shaking his head, Samson began to pace. "Humanity's time is over. The Pendulum Wars made the perfect case for our extinction. The children are the next evolutionary step, our successors. Imulsion—a naturally occurring substance—mutates humans, and those humans in turn give birth to the children."

It was bollocks, complete and utter bollocks, but while Samson was ranting, Sam was safe from harm. She just had to keep him talking.

"That's rubbish," she said. "I spent eighteen months fighting grubs who had gone lamb—"

Samson's hand slammed in to her face, and Sam couldn't stop herself from crying out in surprise. It wasn't the hardest she'd been hit; she just didn't expect it to come from _him_. Always so mild-mannered, polite and calm—but something she'd said had made him snap. She forced herself to look up at him. Had his temper finally snapped because she refused to call the Locust his precious children?

No—as she stared into his brown eyes, she saw that it wasn't anger on Samson's face. It was fear.

Of course. _Because I almost said that some grubs went lambent. The others don't know. He's hiding it from them. _The Formers and Lambent both exploded; they couldn't reproduce. How could the "children" be the next stage in Sera's evolution if they too were susceptible to the same plague that mutated humans?

Samson clasped his hands behind his back. "Kenton, I think it's time we introduced our guest to Yeva."

Yeva—another name Sam didn't know. But what was more interesting to her was the fact that Ward didn't immediately step towards her. She had never seen anyone hesitate to obey Samson.

"Are you… certain?" Ward asked. "Gosse doesn't even know about—"

"How I raise my son has no bearing on this decision, Dr. Ward." Samson had a smile on his face, but his eyes had gone cold. "You and Henry will take her. Now."

Morrow stepped in, nodding emphatically. "Yes, of course, Dr. Samson, right away." He glanced at Ward. "Come _on_, Kent."

Ward swallowed hard before bobbing his head once. He walked over to Sam and unshackled her from the chair. Behind Ward, Rourke was grinning wildly. Sam's stomach dropped. Evidently there was a very good reason that Ward didn't want to take her to see this Yeva—and if Rourke was smiling like that, it couldn't be good.

She got to her feet before Ward could manhandle her again. Some semblance of control was nice once in a while. Rourke was still sneering at her from a distance, but it was easy enough to ignore him; she straightened her posture and stared directly ahead. But she could still _feel_ his eyes on her body, damn him.

"Let's go," Morrow said, grabbing her arm.

Sam glanced down at his hand. She could swear he was trembling slightly.

Morrow and Ward led her further down the hallway than she'd ever gone before. Ira Samson trailed behind them the whole way, his presence like a dark shadow nipping at their heels. At the very end of the corridor was a large grey door—thicker than the ones on her cell or the torture room.

Sam took a deep breath as Ward punched in the security code. Whatever this was, she could handle it. She wouldn't flinch; she wouldn't let them see her fear.

Ward opened the door and Morrow nudged her inside first, almost like he was using her as a human shield. A great big ball of dread began to accumulate in the bottom of her stomach. Somehow she knew—this would be different from anything else they'd done to her. This would be worse.

No one was waiting for them inside the room. Sam had expected another woman—this Yeva—but all she saw was a single, solitary chair in the middle of the room, which seemed to be bolted to the ground. A red lever and a yellow button were mounted on the wall to her left.

The back wall wasn't a part of the rock face—it was a massive slab of metal. There was a soft buzzing in the air, the hum of electricity.

_What the bloody hell do they use this for?_

Morrow indicated that she should sit down. Sam glared at him as she did so, seeing as there was no point in resisting. Two metal cuffs were open, waiting for her wrists. Ward removed her handcuffs before forcing her into the restraints, snapping them shut.

"I think we should tape this," Samson said from behind her, and Ward practically jumped out of his skin. "You can extract the audio file later?"

"Yes," Ward said, gulping. "I can."

"Excellent. Take this, then."

Ward disappeared for a moment before returning, holding the portable camera. Sam took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out. She hadn't been planning on letting her guard down before, but now she definitely would not show any reaction. She could go to that cold, dark place where nothing could touch her.

"Get the door, Henry," Ward said.

Morrow shot him an alarmed look. "Me?"

"I've got the camera. You've done it before."

"Yeah, but I…"

"But _what_, Dr. Morrow?" Samson's voice had a hard edge to it.

Morrow dropped his head slightly. "Nothing, sir." He walked slowly—haltingly—towards the wall with the button and lever.

_I'll be fine. They're not going to kill me. Not yet. Not while they still think I know the keyword._

"The door is electrified, otherwise she will break her way out." Morrow pulled down the red lever; the lights got slightly brighter. "But Dr. Samson wants you to meet her, so we'll have to hope the chains hold."

Then he pressed the yellow button.

The door began to rise, disappearing into a slit in the roof of the cave. Sam clenched her hands into fists. Her heart was beginning to hammer away beneath her ribs. Under the scrape of metal on rock, she could hear something—a deep, guttural snuffing, resonant inhales.

_Oh my god._

She knew that sound. She had only heard it once in real life—it haunted her darkest nightmares—and she was lucky that she was still alive to remember it. She began scraping her heels against the floor, trying to back away, but the chair was welded down. She wasn't going anywhere. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt all of the colour drain from her face. Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

_No. No, please, no._

And then there it was: the high-pitched screech as the monster caught her sent. Sam twisted her wrists under the metal restraints. She didn't care that she was cutting into her skin, that she could feel her own blood slick against the metal—she just had to get _away._

_Oh god, Damon!_

Chains rattled from in the dark and then there were thundering footsteps as the Berserker charged out from underneath the door.

A piercing scream filled the air. It took Sam a few a seconds to realise that it was her own.

* * *

Samantha didn't look up when he came in with her food.

Gosse frowned. Had he done something wrong? She always smiled at him when she saw him. He couldn't think of anything he'd done that would have upset her. But now, as he looked at her more closely, huddled at the back of the room, he saw that she was shaking. Violently.

_Oh. Of course._

Despite his best efforts not to think about it, he knew what his father and the others did with Samantha in the room he wasn't supposed to enter. He wasn't really supposed to know about it—his jobs were to monitor communications and prepare meals—but this was a small lab. They couldn't keep _everything_ a secret.

The smile slipped off his face. _She won't want to talk to me. I'm a part of it._ He decided that it would be best to leave her meal tray on the floor and leave—pretend like he hadn't seen her.

He stumbled; the tray clattered against the floor. Wincing, he froze. Her head snapped up to look at him. An apology was on its way out of his mouth when he saw her eyes.

_Oh god. Dad, what did you _do_ to her?_

"Gosse, have you ever heard of the Lambent?" Her voice quivered.

She had asked him a question. It would be rude to ignore her. "No…?"

"The Lambent were gr—were _children_ who were mutated by imulsion."

His stomach twisted into a knot. "You're lying. That's impossible."

"It's your father who's lying," she spat. "To all of you. We knew about Lambent grubs before we knew it could infect humans. Please believe me, Gosse. Why would I lie about this? How would I _know_ to lie about this?"

It couldn't be true. He didn't believe her—he _wouldn't_ believe her. She was just trying to turn him against his father, to convince him to help her escape. But it wouldn't work. He'd been warned.

"No." He backed away quickly. "You're a liar."

"Gosse, I'm not—"

"_You're a liar!_" he screamed as he ran into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

His father had been right; he shouldn't have spoken to the prisoner. But he still felt queasy.

Maybe he could talk to his mother about it. His father would completely lose it if he found out that Gosse had disobeyed him, but his mom was much more understanding. She'd probably be mad at him—or worse, _disappointed_—but maybe she could tell him the truth.

_Yeah. Yeah, I'll go see Mom. She won't lie to me._

Gosse left his room and headed for his parents' quarters. His father was rarely there unless he was getting ready for bed, so Gosse felt relatively safe heading over when it was just after lunchtime.

When he rounded the corner, he saw a thin steam of light at the end of the hall. The door to his parents' room was open—they were inside.

_I should leave. I'm never supposed to interrupt him._

But, for whatever reason, Gosse didn't immediately turn around. He felt compelled to creep forward, to hear them talking when they didn't know he was listening. His parents were always so guarded around him. He could eavesdrop… maybe find out what his father had done to S—the prisoner.

He inched forward until he could hear their voices clearly.

"… how important it is that they never find out, and she almost told them." His father. He sounded angry and—scared? "Ward, Morrow and Rourke. It was too close."

"But you stopped her." His mother. "They didn't hear anything."

"I know, but…" A deep sigh. "My life's work—almost lost. It was my sister's poisonous influence that left the children susceptible to lambency in the first place, and now _Miss Byrne_ threatens the solidarity of my colleagues.

"Then…" Halting, hesitant. "Is it worth keeping her around? Is the risk she poses greater than the potential benefits?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Even though she doesn't know the keyword, she is the perfect bargaining chip. And, if Austen's notes should yield nothing and I must accept that this problem will not be solved in my lifetime, Gosse will need someone to ensure my legacy."

Gosse's heart dropped into his stomach. _What? But I thought we were keeping Samanth—the prisoner because _she_ knew the keyword!_

"Very well. You know best."

"You must understand, Lana… We need Miss Byrne for the moment. If we have her and continue to provide proof of life, Sergeant Baird will become so frantic and reckless that when he eventually _does_ crack the cipher, he will walk straight in to our waiting arms."

"Hmm," his mother hummed in agreement. "I think today's tape should do the trick. Of course, you won't be sending a video."

"No, of course not. Can you imagine what the COG would do if they knew we had a—No, it will be audio only. The sergeant must be getting desperate now. This should push him over the edge."

Gosse began to back away. He couldn't understand what he was hearing. Everything he'd been told, everything his parents had said to him had been a… a lie? The prisoner—Samantha—she was right. She hadn't made the Lambent up. It was _real_. His purpose was built on _nothing_. He felt sick.

_I don't—I can't—What is—_

The door suddenly swung open. Gosse froze—as did his mother and father when they saw him standing there. Fortunately, Gosse recovered first.

"Mom! Good, you're here. I wanted to talk to you."

His mother smiled at him. "Of course, sweetheart. What did you need?"

Before Gosse answered, his father cut in. "Does this conversation involve me, son?"

"Uh, not really." Gosse wilted under his father's stare. "No, it doesn't, sir."

Ira nodded. "Very well. I'll see you both later." He leaned forward to kiss Lana on the cheek and then walked stiffly away. Gosse watched him go, an odd feeling bubbling up under his ribs. Gosse was startled when he realised it was rage.

"Honey?" His mother stepped in to his field of view. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Oh, uh, right." Gosse cleared his throat. "I was hoping you could talk to Dad for me. I, uh, don't want to take S—the prisoner her food anymore. Not forever. Just for a little while."

"Of course, darling. I'll have a word with him later. Now, shall we go and get some lunch?"

Gosse forced himself to grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I don't feel great all of a sudden. Maybe food will help."

* * *

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 30 Frost 17 A.E.**

"_Baird, it's time."_

The three words that could actually make him stop working instantly. Baird put down his pencil and slammed Austen's journal shut. The hesitation in Marcus's voice had not gone unnoticed; Baird knew that Marcus would love to keep him in the dark, keep him out of the room when Ira Samson's calls came in—because Marcus was like that, hated to see people in pain. He'd rather take it all on himself and tell Baird about it later. But Marcus was also smart enough to realise that Baird would never forgive him if he wasn't there to see Sam—to see what his continual failure was doing to her.

Baird pressed a finger to his earpiece. "On my way."

It took him anywhere between three and five minutes—depending on the elevator—to get from Austen's lab to the comms room. Today Baird made it there in four minutes and nine seconds. Marcus, Cole and McLintock were already inside, waiting.

As soon as Baird closed the door behind him, Marcus leaned forward to hit a button on the keyboard. The communications monitor blinked once and then there he was—Ira Samson, with his expectant, agreeable half-smile. Baird bit back the low growl that threatened to rip out of his throat.

"_Good to see you again, Sergeant. Do you have my keyword yet?"_

Baird just had to answer directly. His excuses never elicited any sympathy from the monster on the screen. "I do not."

"_Disappointing. It will be business as usual, then. For security purposes, this will only be an audio recording."_

"Security purposes?" Baird repeated, brows furrowing.

"_Yes. As we have actually managed to keep our location classified, you'll have to forgive me if I don't feel like letting you peek into every corner of our lab."_ Samson chuckled once and Baird wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat and leisurely squeeze the life out of him.

At first there was nothing but the white noise of background static. Baird wondered if this was some sick kind of joke, just sending over a blank tape and letting his mind fret over what that meant.

And then Sam started to scream.

It was like his heart was being drawn out of his chest, slow and agonizing. His world was coming apart at the seams and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. Begging wouldn't help; this was in Sam's past, and these people refused to believe that he didn't know the keyword. As if he would keep it a secret if he knew. Even if he had cracked the code and McLintock had ordered him to keep silent, he would have gladly faced a court-martial if it meant getting her back.

What had they done to her to make her scream like that? He'd seen all the other recordings. She was brave—strong and silent when Baird was sure he'd have been writhing in his bonds and sobbing. But now Sam sounded ragged and desperate and _terrified_, and at that moment Baird would have given anything to trade places with her.

And he also knew that if—no, _when_—he saw Ira Samson in person, he wouldn't just kill the bastard. That had been his plan before, to make it quick and easy so he could get Sam out as fast as possible. But now, after this… It wouldn't be quick. He would make sure that it was drawn out and excruciating. He would pay Ira Samson back ten times over for everything he'd done to Sam.

She stopped screaming just as abruptly as she'd started. The sound still hung in the air as Ira Samson gazed out at them, the same patient expression on his face.

Baird let out a slow breath. "I will kill you for this."

"_Perhaps if you ever deliver the keyword, you might get your chance."_ Samson smirked. _"Until next time, gentlemen."_

And the screen went black.

"Baby…"

Cole placed his hand on Baird's shoulder, and Baird shrugged him off violently.

"_Don't._" He couldn't hear platitudes right now. He couldn't bear Cole's sympathy. He didn't want to see Marcus staring at him with pain in his piercing blue eyes, or to see McLintock at the back of the room, indifferent as ever.

He couldn't be around _anyone_ right now. He had to get back to the lab and work—Goddamn it, why hadn't he figured it out yet? This should have been solved _days_ ago. Sam should have been back home already, sleeping next to him and mocking his breath in the morning.

As the doors to the elevator closed, Baird finally allowed himself a moment of weakness. There was no way to speed the elevator up; he was stuck in here with his thoughts and nothing else. Nothing to work on for a whole minute. He slumped back against the wall and balled his hands into fists.

_Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. _

There was a soft ding as the elevator reached his floor. He wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his hands. The second the doors opened, he was power walking towards the lab. No more time to feel helpless and ineffectual. He had to be strong, resolute, determined. He had to get this done or—

No, no _or_. Failure was not an option. He would solve this.

Today.

* * *

_"My name is Corporal Samantha Byrne and it's the thirty-first of Frost."_

_"Corporal Byrne. Brume first."_

_"Sam. It's… it's Brume third."_

_"Samantha Byrne, the four—fifth of Brume."_

_"My name… is Sam Byrne. It's the… sixth of Brume."_


	11. Atrophy

**[Author's Note] **Wow, folks! Sorry that it's been a while. It was a combination of me being in Austin for RTX and hating this chapter. But, as Gandalf would say, the board is set and the pieces are moving.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Atrophy**

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 7 Brume 17 A.E.**

The door to her cell started to slide open.

Sam hugged herself tighter. No, not again. She couldn't. Not again today. If she could just have a day to recover, a day without… She shivered. Maybe it was just food. There was no way to keep track of the passage of time, and there was always a dull ache in her stomach from the meagre portions she received. But if it wasn't food, then that meant—

She never would have imagined wishing for a beating or the hose or the splinters under her nails, but anything—_anything_—was better than… than Yeva. If Ward walked through that door, that's what it meant for her: a trip to the Berserker's chamber. The scene played out with horrific clarity in her mind's eye.

And Samson… after Yeva had been reeled back into the dark, Samson had leaned down and whispered in Sam's ear: "If you ever try to mention lambency among the children to any of my colleagues, I will personally cut out your tongue or sew your lips shut. Whichever one horrifies you more."

She'd been so wrong about him, thinking that he was safe and civilized. He was just as bad as the rest—worse, even. He decided what to do and watched it all, placid and tranquil.

_Not the Berserker again. Anything but that. Please. Damon._

Tears blurred her vision. Thinking of him was both comforting and unbearable. She wanted away from this hell, to be with him in Anvegad, safe in his arms. If she closed her eyes, she could see his arrogant smile—and the fondness behind it that he tried so hard to hide.

_Damon._

The door was open now. She had to look, to see what it would be.

"You were right." The voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Gosse?" She wouldn't relax, not yet. He hadn't been to see her in days—Morrow had been bringing her meals—and she wasn't sure if his sudden reappearance was good.

"You were right," he said again. "And I… I want to help you."

"What?" Sam couldn't let herself believe that she'd heard him right. She'd been here too long and had wanted so badly to hear those words; it wouldn't surprise her if she were hallucinating.

Gosse's expression was an odd mixture of fear and determination. "You were right. I want to help you. I just… don't know how."

This was happening. This was really happening. _Okay, pull it together. You aren't going to waste this opportunity. Think before he changes his mind._ "You want to help me," she repeated slowly. "Why?"

Gosse looked down. "I overheard my parents talking. You weren't lying about the Lambent. They _knew_."

_Too bloody right._ She sat up a little straighter. "Can you contact Azura?"

He shook his head. "No. Everything is monitored; someone would find out."

Well, if sending a secret message over the radio was out of the question, they'd just have to do the next best thing. "Then you have to go."

"_What_?"

"You have to get on the island—and bring them back with you."

"How the heck am I supposed to do that?"

Baird would have a plan thought up in seconds; Sam, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain her composure now that Gosse was dangling this chance in front of her. "I—I don't know. You were on Azura before, can't you just go back for the same reason?" It was stupid, stupid, _stupid_; she heard it the second it was out of her mouth. But she couldn't think straight, couldn't come up with a good idea.

Gosse was shaking his head. "No, no, no, I was there to get the notes, there's no way they'd send me back for anything less than—" His eyes went wide.

"What?"

"The keyword," he said quietly. "If I could get it—or at least make my dad _think_ I could get it… Maybe…"

_Maybe. _It wasn't anything close to a promise but Sam's heartbeat picked up all the same. _Maybe maybe maybe…_ Such a beautiful word. "You think you can convince your father to let you go?"

"Maybe." There it was again. "But even if I did make it to Azura, there's no way anyone would believe anything I said. I attacked that sergeant, remember?"

_Yes, I remember. And I remember him kissing me later that night, and smiling when I said I was worried about him._ She willed herself to focus. "I could send something with you so they'd know to trust you. A note. Can you get me some paper?"

Gosse made a face, as if she'd asked for something as outrageous as a diamond. "You're joking. Besides the lab equipment, paper is the most important thing we have here. It's a finite resource."

Sam recalled Anya talking about her days in CIC, when the only paper she and the other operators had to write on was grey from repeated erasure and re-use—and then Sam was rewarded with another pang deep inside her chest. She'd slipped up, thought of someone else she missed so much it hurt. And Cole… Cole always found something on which to write his letters to his dead mother…

"It doesn't have to be white and pristine," Sam heard herself saying. "Just a scrap. Just enough to write a couple words."

Gosse still didn't look convinced. "All the paper is kept in the lab. My father is always there during the day, and for the past few weeks Dr. Rourke has been posted there overnight. I can't get to it without them seeing me."

She shuddered. A week ago, making a choice between Samson and Rourke would have been a no-brainer. Now, Sam wasn't so sure. But she took a deep breath and forced herself to decide. "Then tell your father that I want to speak with him."

* * *

Ira Samson didn't keep her waiting long.

It was hard to tell if she was more frightened of the door opening this time, now that she knew who was on the other side. But she was the one in control: she had asked to see him. He wasn't coming to drag her off to the torture room—as long as she kept him distracted, anyway.

Samson paused for a few seconds in the open doorway, silhouetted against the eerie glow of the underground flora. Just as Sam's eyes were beginning to adjust to the sudden burst of light, Ira stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

_Now it's just him and me._

Her skin began to crawl. As if sensing her discomfort, Samson's lips curled up neatly into a smile. The way he was bearing his teeth, Sam had a sudden urge to cover her throat.

"So you enjoyed your visit with Yeva?" he asked, pleasant and conversational as ever. Like there wasn't a psychopath lurking just underneath his cultured surface.

Sam clenched her jaw and refused to re-live that moment again. "I was just curious as to how the bloody hell you still had a live Berserker."

"Hmm, yes. That must have been quite a shock, considering that Adam Fenix's imulsion countermeasure weapon resulted in the genocide of the children. It was quite the involved process to save Yeva, believe me. The targeted radiation destroyed all imulsion cells in any living being. The children were destroyed because they had too many Lambent cells in their bodies—a result of the civil war they waged underground for years before Emergence Day. When it became apparent what Fenix was planning, we knew we had to act quickly and remove all the Lambent cells from Yeva."

Sam couldn't even imagine how much anaesthetic it would take to knock out a Berserker long enough to perform that kind of intricate surgery. She tried to picture Yeva lying limp and motionless on a massive hospital bed—it was a mistake. The Berserker came charging towards Sam in her mind's eye, the terrible roar echoing in her ears…

_Stop! _Sam squeezed her eyes shut briefly, but she was unable to keep herself from flinching. Ira looked at her curiously, his head cocked to one side. _If I don't keep him interested, he'll leave and catch Gosse. Come on, Byrne, focus._

"But…" Sam started, her voice trembling slightly. "But if they know that the Locust had lambent cells, how can they not know that they started going Lambent?"

"Imulsion gave birth to the children, so of course they would have traces of it in their cells. But no one besides Lana and myself knew the full extent of imulsion's effects on the children. They can't know, or they will begin to doubt. My father faced the same crisis after moving his lab from New Hope."

"Your father?"

"Yes, Niles Samson. I'm sure you've heard the name."

Yes, she had. Baird had gone over Rex Jerome's history of New Hope and lambency, related the details to the higher-ups, and the story had circulated down the ranks. And not long after, Baird had found Austen's diary. Sam could still picture him perfectly, bent over his desk and glaring down at the open journal, as if the intensity of his gaze would force the text to give up its secrets.

She pushed the memory away. "How could he be your father? That was almost eighty years ago."

"I understand your confusion. He didn't want to have children, you see. But when it became apparent that he would need someone to carry on his legacy, he convinced one of the younger female scientists to help him produce a successor." Something dark passed over Samson's face. "I wish he'd stopped at one heir."

Sam frowned. "One? You have a brother?"

"A brother?" He chuckled. "I can see how you might think that. Of course Lana cannot be related to me, as we've created Gosse. But no, my sibling is dead. And it was her failure that lead the children on their path to destruction."

"_Her_ failure? You can't mean…" A chill swept over Sam, and it had nothing to do with the frosty air. "Myrrah?"

Samson's eyes had gone hard and cold again. He nodded. "Yes. Myrrah was my sister. My _half_-sister, to be precise."

"Bloody hell…" she breathed. "So, what, revenge is just an added bonus then?"

Chuckling, Samson shook his head. "Not at all. I'm well aware that your Marcus Fenix finally put a stop to Myrrah's arrogance, and for that I bear him no ill will. As I said, my dear sister was just as responsible for the children's annihilation as her precious Professor Fenix."

Sam really didn't give a shit, but she needed to buy Gosse time. And Ira seemed content enough to keep talking with minimal prompting. "How do you figure that? She was their queen; didn't she build them up?"

"She had far too much direct contact with them. She exposed them to elevated levels of imulsion. True, it was Adam Fenix who built the machine that obliterated the children, but it was Myrrah's involvement with them that left them open to such a fate."

_Just keep stalling. _"So Myrrah didn't do things the way you wanted. I guess it shouldn't really surprise me that you're glad she's dead, then."

"She violated the philosophy of science!" he shouted, much louder than he needed to be. "She wholly disregarded the scientific method: communalism, universalism, disinterestedness, scepticism. Merton's institutional imperatives, what the scientific ethos is based on, and _my sister_ showed complete and utter disdain for them all. She wanted to play queen when she should have been playing _God_."

Sam made herself snort derisively. "I don't see much difference between a queen and a god, to be honest."

Ira gave her a long stare, like she'd said something particularly stupid. "Perhaps some monarchs and gods are similar, I'll grant you that. But Myrrah was directly involved with them, especially her pet generals—Karn, RAAM, Skorge, and their ilk. And so she tainted their evolution with her humanity. A true god, one who watches his creation grow from afar…"

He paused and closed his eyes. When Samson began to speak again, his voice had changed, like he was trying to quote something he'd once read word for word. "Just as watches are set in motion by watchmakers, after which they operate according to their pre-established mechanisms, so also was the world begun by the God as creator, after which it and all its parts have operated according to their pre-established natural laws. With these laws perfectly in place, events have unfolded according to the prescribed plan."

Sam felt as if she'd heard that before, long ago in a classroom. "I didn't think science and philosophy mixed," she said.

"A common misconception. But, as even you must no doubt understand, Myrrah did not rule as a god should. She interfered with the children's natural state, and so they were corrupted. If we can begin again and leave them to grow and learn and evolve as nature dictates, then surely the children will become what they were always meant to be—our planet's stewards."

"So you think the Lambent Pandemic was Myrrah's fault," Sam said.

"Yes. Lambency did not begin to rear its ugly head until after Myrrah decided she wanted to play house."

It was all starting to make sense to Sam now, in a completely fucked up kind of way. "And you think that Austen's research will somehow help you bring the grubs back."

Samson wrinkled his nose, but was apparently content to keep going with his lecture. "Yes. Brett Austen was looking into whether or not humanity's evolution into the children was inevitable, regardless of imulsion's involvement. Given the fact that she encrypted her notes and refused to discuss her findings with anyone—even her precious Richard Prescott—I suspect that she discovered humanity's predestined future."

_Like hell. _So that was the end-game. Decode the notes and discover the secret to resurrecting the Locust species. Again, _like hell._ Even if Sam thought that there was even the remotest possibility that the grubs could come back—and she _didn't_—there was no bloody way that she would let these assholes even have a peek at that decrypted paper. _Not after everything they've done to me._

"I'm surprised you were so honest with me," she said.

"Why would that be surprising?"

"Well, now that you've told me what you hope to find in Austen's research, it's even more incentive for me to not give you the keyword."

Samson sighed, and smiled almost sadly. "My dear, don't you think it's time we put an end to this farce? We both know that you don't have that information."

His sentence was like a punch to the gut. Sam felt her mouth go dry. "Excuse me?" she asked, not daring to confirm what he'd said.

"You, Samantha Byrne, have no more idea what Austen's keyword is than I do." Samson clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "And I'm rather disappointed that my videos seem to be doing very little to motivate your Sergeant Baird."

_He… knows? He's always known? And yet they've still been…_ This whole time she thought she'd been in control. It had made it better, somehow, thinking that she was in some way ordaining her abuse. But the whole thing had been an illusion. She never had any control in this situation; the scientists knew she didn't have the keyword, and yet they'd tortured her all the same. Just to motivate Baird.

"The sergeant must not care about you very much," Samson was saying, "to leave you in such a predicament for so long. Or perhaps he's just decided that you're too damaged and he doesn't want you back."

It knocks the air out of her lungs. _Lies. You know it's bullshit._ There was no way—She'd seen Baird struggling with the encrypted notes, how desperately he wanted to solve the puzzle and how frustrated he was by his lack of progress. Her stomach clenched as a terrifying thought came to her: what if Baird _couldn't_ crack the code—ever? He'd said it himself, he wasn't a genius, he hadn't been able to hack Prescott's data disc—

_Stop it. Don't give in to the fear; it's exactly what they want. Damon's trying his hardest. He will come. Even if he can't decrypt the research. He'll come for me._

"I think that's enough small talk for one day," Ira said, jolting Sam back to reality. "I'll see you tomorrow. Perhaps we'll visit Yeva again."

Sam hated herself for it, but she couldn't keep from whimpering.

* * *

Getting his father to leave the lab had been surprisingly easy. All Gosse had to do was say that Samantha wanted to speak to him—and that she'd been trying to talk to Gosse—and Ira had been off like a shot. Gosse just hoped that Samantha wouldn't get in too much trouble…

He'd found some paper after a few minutes of searching. There was an old failed experiment that he knew no one had looked at for months. The reports were organized half-heartedly beside it. Checking to make sure no one was coming, Gosse riffled through the papers, looking for something unimportant—something nobody would miss if they did decide to go over this again.

An old page torn from a textbook, covered in handwritten observation notes. _Yeah, this is good. _There was even a spot at the bottom with room for some new writing. _Jackpot. Now time to bounce before I get caught._

He ducked out of the lab and made a beeline for his room. That was, of course, where he was supposed to be if he wasn't monitoring communications or delivering food like a maid. He was almost sixteen, not twelve; shouldn't he be allowed a little more freedom? _Not the time_, he mentally chided himself. _Worrying about ridiculous rules when I'm about to go and break them all. Nice one._

Stuffing the piece of paper deep in to his back pocket, Gosse sat down on his bed and picked up the book he'd read about nine times now. It wasn't a great book or anything, but pleasure reading was kind of limited given where he lived. As he stared at the words on the page, he wondered if he'd be allowed to stay in Azura when all was said and done. Yes, his first visit to the island wasn't exactly going to endear him to anyone, but surely _this_ would tip the scales in his favour.

_What the heck am I going to do after this? I'm betraying my family—for what? _A week of deciding whether or not to help Samantha and he'd never once thought of this. He'd lived in this underground network of caves his entire life. True, he wasn't particularly fond of it by any means, but it was the only home he'd ever known. And now he was planning on leaving and never coming back.

_But what will I miss, really? Dad? I don't think I even like him, let alone love him. Mom, maybe, but… _What they were doing—his parents, the other doctors—it was wrong. It was _wrong_, and when Gosse thought about it, his stomach churned so bad he thought he was going to be sick. _I can't stay here. I can't end up like them—people who think this is okay. It's not. I know it's not._

A firm knock on his door jolted Gosse out of his introspection. Before he could say anything, his father had opened his door and stepped into the room.

Gosse snapped his mouth shut to stop himself from gaping. _What's going on? He never comes to see me._ He felt the colour drain from his face. _Does he know?_

Ira's face was as unreadable as ever as he stood in front of Gosse. "Have you been speaking with the prisoner?"

_Crap. Okay, don't freak out._ Gosse couldn't outright deny it; after all, he'd told his father that Samantha wanted to talk. If Gosse said no, Ira would have caught him in a lie. "She's, uh, tried talking to me. I just give her one word answers."

His father sighed deeply. "You were _specifically _instructed _not_ to speak with her."

Gosse flared his nostrils; maybe he could play indignant convincingly enough. "It's not like I was having a conversation with her. Jeez, I'm not that stupid."

Ira didn't say anything, but Gosse could hear _Sometimes I wonder_ just fine. It was time to turn this around before his father became too suspicious and started accusing Gosse of something else.

"Dad, I was thinking… wouldn't it be easier for Sergeant Baird to decrypt the notes if he, you know, actually had them to work on?"

"Gosse, use your brain for once. If we handed over Dr. Austen's research, we'd never get it back."

That hurt, even though he hated to admit it. "But it's been _weeks._ I thought this guy was supposed to be a genius. Don't you think he'd have figured it out by now?" _Crap, remember—you don't know about Samantha. _"And you don't seem to be getting anywhere with the prisoner."

Ira pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for summarizing the situation. Were you going somewhere with this?"

_Yes, hopefully. Very far away. _"Well, I was thinking that I could go back to Azura with the research, get them to decode it, and then bring it straight back here."

"While I have no doubt that Sergeant Baird will keep his end of the bargain, I don't trust their Major McLintock. If Dr. Austen's notes return to Azura, I don't believe they will ever leave again."

"Okay, just the first five pages then. That at least gives him something to go on."

"Why the sudden burst of interest in our plans, Gosse? You've never seemed particularly invested in this endeavour before."

Gosse didn't want it to, but the comment strung—as did the way his father looked down his nose at him. "When the Gears eventually come, how do we know if they'll actually keep their word?" he asked, deflecting. "What if it's a trap?"

"I'm fully expecting them to implement some sort of ill-conceived scheme, son." _Son. _Ira only called Gosse that when he thought his offspring was showing his ignorance. "Precautions will be taken."

_Okay, different tactic. _"But wouldn't it be safer to know _for sure_ what they will be planning?"

His father narrowed his eyes slightly. "If you want to suggest something, speak plainly."

Gosse only just stopped himself from gulping. _Here goes._ "I could go back to Azura with some of the notes and pretend to help them. And then when they come here with the keyword, I'll know what they're trying to do and I can stop them."

"That's uncharacteristically bold of you, Gosse."

"I've been there before," he retorted sullenly. "I could do it again."

"Yes, you've been to Azura before—and you attacked Sergeant Baird, remember? Why in heaven's name should they trust you after that?"

"Because…" Gosse adopted his best hesitant, fearful expression. "Because I can't believe what those… _monsters_ are doing to your friend. I want to help. Please let me help you save her." Then he grinned for effect.

His father was silent for a long while, presumably weighing the potential benefits against the costs. Or—had he seen through Gosse's lies? Ira Samson had an uncanny ability to detect fibs. That was why Gosse stuck as close to the truth as possible when feeding stories to his father. Had he been convincing enough?

Finally, his father nodded. "You make a valid case. Your mother won't be pleased, of course, but I think you're right: we _must_ take every advantage we can when dealing with these people. When can you be ready to go?"

It was all Gosse could do to hold back a sigh of relief. "Whenever you want me to be."

"Excellent. I'll speak to your mother later."

It was too risky to go tonight; he'd have to wait until he was told to bring Samantha her breakfast tomorrow morning.

* * *

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 8 Brume 17 A.E.**

Sam was sleeping as best she could on the cold, hard floor when, on the edges of her consciousness, she heard a scraping sound. _The door._ She was awake in a second, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her vision was blurry and something wet was slipping down her cheek.

_Tears? Oh, pull yourself together!_

It was easy to think she could be brave. But she was faced with the possibility that it was Ira Samson on the other side, coming to make good on his threat to take her back to Yeva, and she couldn't just fake it. It was getting so exhausting to keep her fear buried deep down inside.

"Samantha?"

_Oh thank god._ It was Gosse; he was the only one who called her that.

"Did you get it?" she asked, wincing at the desperation in her voice.

"Yeah." Gosse ducked inside but left the door open. "Quick, I'm supposed to go and see Ira."

Sam made a mental note that Gosse had changed the way he referred to his father; that was promising. "All right, give it here."

Gosse passed her a crumpled up piece of paper and a pen. There wasn't much room, but she wasn't looking to write an essay. All she needed was this:

_D—_

_Trust him_

—_S _

"Here." She pressed the paper back into Gosse's hands, lingering for a moment like it was something precious. It was, really; her life depended on that small, fragile object making its way to Baird.

"I'm leaving tonight, so… I guess this is goodbye."

There was a sharp stab of panic in Sam's chest. Suddenly she didn't want him to go—Gosse, her only friend, the only one she could trust not to hurt her. But he needed to go, to bring Baird back with him. She swallowed down her irrational hysteria and took a deep breath.

"It's not _goodbye_; it's _see you later_."

"Yeah." Gosse gave her a nervous grin. "Okay."

And then he was gone—off to Azura, off to see Baird. Sam felt something warm and light surge up under her ribs. A small smile crept on to her face as she realised it was hope.


	12. The Art of Breaking

**Chapter Eleven: The Art of Breaking**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 9 Brume 17 A.E.**

Cole had decided that he preferred morning patrols. It wasn't that he preferred watching a sunrise over a sunset—honestly, they looked pretty much the same to him—but rather because it meant the start of a new day. He wouldn't have to trek back to the Solarium after the sun went down and ruminate on the passing of another day where they hadn't rescued Sam.

Beside him, Clay vehemently kicked at a rock poking out of the sand. It went skidding up the beach; as they passed it, Clay punted it again.

_Poor guy. Still hasn't forgiven himself._

Nobody blamed Clay for what had happened. It had been a co-ordinated attack that nobody was prepared for. Cole had told Clay as much multiple times over the past few weeks, but he knew as well as anyone that when you wanted to blame yourself for something, nothing anybody else said could change your mind. It had taken Cole years to get over his momma's death. _Ifs_ had haunted him daily: _if_ he had been home when E-Day happened instead of being stuck in traffic… _if_ he'd convinced her to move out of that cramped apartment and into a nice house on the outskirts of the city… _If, if, if_. Dwelling on what could have been didn't help; it had happened, and Cole had to live in the real world instead of a fantasy.

Still, Clay was giving off a palpable don't-talk-to-me-I'm-pissed-off vibe, and Cole knew when to pick his battles. It would be easier for Clay to forgive himself once they got Sam back.

It would be easier for _a lot_ of people once they brought Sam home.

Baird was seriously starting to worry Cole. When Cole had last seen him—yesterday evening, when he brought up some cold chilli to Austen's lab—Cole had once again been alarmed by the way Baird looked. His skin was pale, he'd dropped some weight after stopping his training, and the deep purple circles under his bloodshot, tired eyes made him look like the walking dead. Cole was acutely aware that his attempts to get Baird to take small breaks were in no way endearing himself to Baird, but he was trying to make sure that, when Sam did come home, she would have someone to come back to. Unfortunately, it was getting harder and harder to penetrate that cocoon of concentration.

Cole was beginning to think that, if things went sideways—and someone had to be prepared to think that way as Baird refused to entertain that possibility—he'd lose two friends when all was said and done. It didn't take a genius to realise that Baird would completely fall apart if something happened to Sam.

_It would be bad for all of us._

For all Baird's insistences that this was solely on his shoulders, there were a lot of people who would be devastated. Marcus, Anya and Jace were leading daily excursions to the mainland, running down Stranded contacts and scouring any areas that might have a network of underground caves. That was all they had to go on, that Sam was being held somewhere underground. And that made looking for possible sites extremely difficult. How do you find something that isn't visible on the surface? Yeah, there were a lot of people who were going to feel responsible if this ended badly. Didn't mean that Baird wouldn't see it as entirely his fault, though.

"Excuse me?"

It took Cole a couple seconds to realise that the voice didn't belong to Clay. But who else would be out here this early in the morning, when the sun was barely above the horizon? Clay reacted first—he'd been on edge since Sam's abduction—spinning on his heel, Lancer raised aggressively. Cole was a second behind him, tightening his grip on his Gnasher but keeping it at his hip. He preferred not to shoot first and ask questions later, especially not when someone announced themselves so politely.

But when Cole did see who'd spoken, he had to resist the urge to throw his shotgun on the ground and tackle the kid standing in front of him.

Not just a kid, _the_ kid. Lanky, brown hair, dark eyes. The kid who'd attacked Baird, stolen the notes, started this whole shit show.

He had his hands up high, eyes wide like he was expecting to be shot any second. "I need to talk to Sergeant Damon Baird. It's important."

"Trust me, kid," Cole growled as he reached out to grip the boy's shoulder like a vice, "he's gonna want to talk to you too."

* * *

Baird jerked awake with a snort.

_Goddamn it. Shit shit shit. Fuck, Sam, I'm sorry._

He'd fallen asleep. Again. That made twice today. Twice he'd put himself above Sam, decided she could wait while he rested. Coffee. He needed more coffee to stay awake. The one good thing about Azura, it had stores and stores of real coffee hidden away in its massive kitchens. All for the scientists who'd been important enough to work here.

Like Brett Austen.

The mug shattered against the wall. Baird didn't even realise he'd thrown it. Whatever. Like the Solarium didn't have a thousand other mugs to replace it.

Someone started banging on his door. He'd taken his tac-com out days ago, annoyed by Cole's constant interruptions. He didn't want to hate his best friend so he'd cut Cole out. But this knocking was different. It was persistent, hard, almost frantic. Was Ira Samson calling again already? Was it the recording he'd been fearing since this had all started, the one where Sam had tears streaming down her face as someone pressed a gun to her temple. Baird was on his feet in an instant. He would know from the look on the face of whoever was waiting for him.

He wrenched open the door and saw Cole standing there. His friend didn't look apologetic, like he did when he was trying to drag Baird out for food or a walk. But he didn't look devastated either. Cole looked angry and confused. It was enough to get Baird's attention.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was dry and scratchy from disuse.

"I'm not really sure," Cole said. "You need to come see."

Surprising himself, Baird stepped out of Austen's lab. "Has to do with Sam?" Otherwise he was turning around.

"Sorta," Cole answered, but Baird could hear the uncertainty. "She sent a message."

Baird's heart leapt into his throat. A message. What kind of message? How? When? Didn't matter. He'd see for himself soon. But it was good—it meant she was still fighting.

They got in the elevator. Baird expected Cole to press the button for the top floor, for McLintock's office, but instead his hand went all the way to the bottom. Baird frowned; he'd never been to that level before. He didn't even know what was there.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The holding cells," Cole said.

_First: Azura has holding cells? _Maybe in case people like Adam Fenix, people who really didn't want to be safe and sound on the island, ever decided to try and escape. Couldn't have them making it back to the mainland and spilling the beans about Prescott's little secret. _Second: what the hell kind of message did she send?_

Cole didn't seem to know what was going on and wasn't in the mood to chitchat. That wasn't like him. Baird's initial elation was beginning to morph into panic. Was it bad? Was this message just desperate, incoherent pleading for rescue? It would kill him.

Marcus and Carmine were waiting for them when the elevator doors opened. Marcus's jaw was set, his brow slightly furrowed, and even though Carmine was still wearing his helmet, Baird could feel the tension emanating from him. _Not good news, then._

Wordlessly, Marcus led them down the corridor. Two doors were waiting for them at the end of the hall. Marcus opened the left one and let everybody else step in before him. Inside, Baird realised they were on one side of a two-way mirror. A real interrogation room, like the ones he'd seen on crime shows when TV used to be a thing.

And then Baird saw who was waiting to be interrogated.

He took a steadying breath to make sure he didn't react outwardly. If the others saw, they'd never let him do what he so desperately wanted. Get in that room, talk to that kid, and—And. He was very aware that Cole and Marcus were watching him, trying not to be obvious about it. _Yeah, subtle._

"Where the hell did he come from?" Baird asked, making sure to keep his voice even.

"Just showed up on the beach this morning," Carmine answered. "I nearly shot him."

"Good thing you didn't," Baird said. _Not before I do._

"He asked to talk to you," Marcus said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having a word with him."

"Baird." Marcus's tone was a warning. "He's our prisoner. We can't mistreat him."

_Oh, but they've been "mistreating" Sam plenty._ "Sure thing, boss man."

"Seriously, Damon," Cole said. "Don't do anything stupid."

Baird gave them what he hoped was a convincing frown. "I won't. Cross my heart."

It worked. Marcus and Cole walked with him to the door to the interview room. They thought it would be best if Baird went in alone, they explained; this kid was eager to talk to him and only him.

As soon as Baird entered the room, the kid opened his mouth and started talking. Baird didn't hear a word; he just went straight towards the boy, calm as anything, a thin smile on his face. And then Baird's hands were around his neck, choking him, squeezing as hard as he could. He wanted to crush the windpipe, break his voice, make him suffer the way Sam was suffering.

There was a commotion behind him and then hands were on Baird's shoulders, wrestling him away. Marcus forced himself in-between Baird and the kid, yelling something, but Baird still couldn't hear. He should have locked the door after he went in. Only when Cole finally broke them apart did his voice penetrate Baird's ears.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Cole shouted.

Baird didn't answer. They probably weren't really expecting him to, anyway. The kid had dropped to his knees and was sucking in wheezy breaths. He stared up at Baird, eyes wide with fear and confusion. _What the fuck did he think I was gonna do? Hug it out? Shake his hand and forgive him?_ But, now that Marcus was glaring at Baird with a frightening intensity, the logical part of Baird's brain seemed to wake up. That probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. Sam had sent a message—that's what Cole had said, and then brought Baird here. This kid was the message. And Baird had tried to kill him.

_Shit._

Cole squatted down next to the kid but kept his distance. "Sorry about my friend. What's your name?"

"Gosse," the kid gasped, rubbing his throat. "I'm Gosse, and Samantha sent me to get help."

The way he said her name—_Samantha_, not Sam, no one ever called her Samantha—rankled Baird. He folded his arms across his chest, gripping his bicep tightly in case he had another urge to leap forward and strangle Gosse.

"Do you really expect us to trust you?" Baird spat. "After attacking me, after—after—" His mouth refused to form the words.

Gosse shook his head. "No. That's why I brought this."

He reached in to his pocket and everyone else in the room immediately tensed up, ready for some sort of attack. But all that Gosse withdrew was a crumpled piece of paper. He held it out towards Baird.

"The hell is this?" Baird grumbled under his breath as he snatched the paper away. He unfolded it and attempted to smooth it out against his leg as best he could. It was covered in writing, at least two different people, the words so tiny and small that he could barely make them out. He was about to throw the paper back in Gosse's face when something caught his eye.

_D—_

_Trust him_

—_S _

He knew that handwriting. It was shaky and faint, but it was the same script that had sent him a letter every week when he was posted in Port Farrall for three months, the same writing he saw when he had the day off and slept in and Sam left him little inane notes all around the house (he'd thrown them out, why had he done that, he should have kept them all). Sam had written this—recently—and now he was holding it in his hands.

"When did she…?" His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Yesterday," Gosse said, getting to his feet.

Yesterday. She was alive as of yesterday. There had been some small part of Baird niggling away at him while he worked, trying to convince him that it might already be too late—Didn't matter now. She was _alive_ and she needed him.

"I had a backpack too," Gosse was saying, "but the guy in the helmet took it away."

On cue, Carmine entered the room, holding a ratty old blue backpack in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. "These were the only things inside," he said, handing the papers to Baird.

Baird took them from Carmine, and was surprised to see familiar gibberish. This was Austen's research. Only five pages of it, sure, but it was better than anything Baird had at the moment.

"Why are you helping us?" Baird asked, looking back at Gosse. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but, you know."

Gosse dropped his gaze. "Because I've seen what they're doing to her. It's wrong."

Memories of the recordings came crashing back in. Baird's hands began to shake. Then Cole was beside him, his mere presence enough to be a calming force. Cole—his best friend. Baird had been so awful to him for the last few weeks.

"How did you get here?" Cole asked. "Did you run away?"

"No, they sent me. They think I'm spying on you."

"And how do we know you're not?"

Gosse shrugged. "I guess you don't. But Samantha trusts me."

Marcus cleared his throat. "Let's talk outside." He turned to Gosse. "You just… wait here."

When the four of them were out in the hall, Baird finally felt like he could breathe normally. Everybody was looking at him but he couldn't think straight. Not yet. Not with so many emotions and half-formed plans swirling inside his brain.

"I figured McLintock would be here," Baird said, deflecting.

"He took one look at the kid and went to the comms room," Marcus said. "He won't do anything without talking to Hoffman first."

"Whatever. Keeps him out of my hair."

"Can we address the elephant in the room here?" Cole asked. "How do we know we can actually trust this kid?"

"Sam trusts him," Baird said firmly. "And I trust her."

"You've seen what they've done to her," Cole said gently. "Her judgment might—"

"What other choice is there?" Baird snapped. "I'm not just going to do nothing!"

"No one's suggesting that—" Marcus started.

"I don't care! I've got the research, I'm not going to _sleep_ until I figure out this fucking keyword, so you guys can fuck off and do whatever you want."

Baird spun around and stormed towards the elevator. Behind him, he heard Marcus say, "No, Gus, let him go." Dimly, he was aware that he should feel bad for lashing out at his friends. They were just trying to help, in their own way. But he wasn't going to waste another second, not when he was so close. He had all the pieces; he just had to fit them together.

* * *

He put his tac-com back in, only because he wanted to know ASAP if Gosse wanted to speak with him again. And, honestly, Baird could feel his self-control slipping. He had half a mind to go back to the kid, ask him how Sam was doing, get a detailed account of everything that had happened to her… But that wouldn't help. What he needed was the keyword; once he got that, he could save Sam.

He'd only been working for about twenty minutes before his earpiece crackled. Baird sighed and straightened up, waiting for the incoming message. After his earlier outburst, he figured neither Marcus nor Cole would bother him unless it was something important.

"_Baird, you there?"_ It was Marcus. His voice sounded… off.

"Yeah, I'm here."

On the other end, Marcus heaved a sigh. _"Come to the comms room. They've sent another message."_

That Marcus used the word _sent_ was not missed by Baird. Sent—past tense. How had he missed it?

He brought Austen's research with him to the comms room. There was no way he was losing it again, not when he had this chance. Baird expected other people to be waiting for him, but it was only Marcus. The sergeant major was standing very still and he had that _look_ about him—when he had bad news to deliver and was trying to decide how best to phrase it.

"Baird, you, uh, you need to see this. She's alive, she's okay at the end."

He realised then that Marcus had been screening the tapes. _You bastard._

Marcus leaned forward to hit a key and the recording began: it was a similar set-up, with Sam tied to a chair and Ira Samson standing stoically beside her. Baird's stomach dropped as he took stock of the new bruises covering Sam's face. She looked gaunt and exhausted… defeated.

_Hang on, Sam. I'm coming. I swear I'll be there soon._

Clearing his throat, Samson began to speak. _"By now I assume you've collected my son."_

Well, Gosse had certainly failed to mention that piece of information. Baird's eyes flicked to Marcus, who was scowling at the screen. _Doesn't change anything. Sam still trusts him, so I have to too._

"_Consider this a warning,"_ Samson continued. Then he held up a plastic bag,

Ice flooded into Baird's veins. _Oh god, no._

Samson placed the plastic bag over her head and snapped a thick rubber band around her neck. Instantly, Sam started to twist and squirm, trying in vain to shake the bag off her head. Baird held his breath; he wanted to feel what she was feeling, punish himself for allowing this to happen to her. _She's okay at the end_, Marcus had said. Marcus wouldn't lie to him. Not about this.

Sam's mouth opened. She was trying to suck in air, to breathe, to scream, but the plastic would fill her mouth and nostrils. Slowly suffocating. Baird's chest began to burn. He wouldn't inhale, not until she could. _She's okay at the end._ She was really struggling now. Her fight-or-flight response must have kicked in, taking control as her body desperately sought oxygen.

Baird knew he was going to pass out soon. Once he was unconscious, his medulla oblongata would kick in and get him breathing again. Sam's would try too, only to be thwarted by the lack of air.

_She's okay at the end._

And then Ira ripped the bag off Sam's head, tossing it to the side. Sam bent forward, out of the camera's view, but Baird could hear her coughing and gasping. She was alive. She hadn't suffocated. Baird exhaled slowly, trying not to tip Marcus off to what he'd been doing.

Samson stared straight at the camera, his face hard. _"Know this: if you harm Gosse, she will suffer for it. Whatever you do to my son, I will repay tenfold."_

Did Samson know somehow what Baird had done to Gosse in the interrogation room? Doubtful. It was just a horrible coincidence. As the screen went dark, Baird was resolved. _I'm going to kill that man._

* * *

Baird heard the soft, electronic beeps even through the door. Someone outside was punching in the code. Still, Baird didn't bother looking up from the encrypted notes as the door opened. He could just ignore whoever it was.

"Hey baby." From the tone of Cole's voice, Baird could tell that he'd seen the most recent recording.

"How'd you get in here?" Baird asked, turning a page over.

"Marcus told me the code. Figured you'd need company."

Of course Marcus would know the password. Baird should have rewired the lock a week ago.

"Listen, if you're trying to get me to—"

"I'm not here to distract you," Cole said, pulling up a chair beside him. "I'm here to be here."

There was something oddly comforting about that. Cole didn't have to speak; reassurance just seemed to ooze out of him. It was why he'd always been popular—with his thrashball team and, later, his fellow Gears. Confidence and charisma, and he was turning them on Baird now.

Cole reached for the desk and grabbed Austen's journal. Baird was more or less ignoring it now that he had some of the research paper, so he didn't see a problem in Cole looking it over.

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," Cole said.

Baird had to have read that thing at least seven times; he was certain he'd memorized most of it. "Knock yourself out."

They settled in to silence. Baird was going over the encrypted notes letter by letter, looking for a repeating pattern. Once he found a pattern in the ciphertext, he could use a frequency analysis and work backwards. Decrypting the whole thing that way would take a hell of a long time, but he wasn't looking to translate everything. He just needed to know what the keyword was.

"Huh. That's weird."

Baird kept going through the letters. "_What_ is weird, Cole?"

"Just in this entry here." Cole tipped the diary towards Baird. "She starts out calling Marcus's dad _Adam_, but then every time after it's _Professor Fenix._"

Baird was tempted to brush it off, ignore it as another distraction, but something in his gut stopped him. For some reason, he felt like this was important.

"Let me see."

_4 Rise 10 A.E._

_Adam stopped by my workstation today. I thought he was genuinely interested in the work I've been doing, but it seems he got lost on his way to his own lab. Not surprising. Professor Fenix has only been here a few days, and Azura certainly takes some time to adjust. I've heard the stories about Professor Fenix's son, the one who was court-martialed for trying to save him. Now he's been thrown in jail. To me, that seems like a waste of a perfectly good soldier, especially when this war is going so badly._

Baird frowned when he'd finished reading. "That's the opposite of what it should be. If she's establishing a relationship with him, she should refer to him in less and less formal terms. It doesn't make sense that she'd start off calling him by his first name and then back to his official title." He flipped forward a few pages. "And she does it again here."

"Do you think that's significant?"

"I don't know, maybe…"

Then a familiar feeling washed over Baird: a sense of growing anticipation, a prickle at the base of his spine and along his thighs. He knew that feeling; it meant he was on to something.

"Shit," he said. "Every fourth entry begins with an A."

How the hell had he not noticed this before? He grabbed for a pencil and paper, nearly knocking his glass of water off the desk, and quickly began writing down the first word of each journal entry.

_Last, Esther, Gabrielle, After, Chairman, Yesterday, Long, Everyone, Guess, Adam, Chances, You_

Baird circled the first letter of every word. "Fuck me."

_ L, E, G, A, C, Y, L, E, G, A, C, Y  
_

_LEGACY._

"Legacy?" Cole said. "That's the keyword?"

"Hang on." He had to be sure. Quickly, he wrote out the tabula recta. He reached for the first page of Austen's notes and began to work backwards. _So H becomes W, I is E, Q is K…_ It took a few minutes of painstaking translation, and then the first sentence of Austen's research paper was staring up at Baird in very readable Tyran: _We know now that the Locust are genetically related to humans._

"You did it," Cole breathed.

Baird didn't respond. He clenched the paper in his fist, jumping up and tipping his chair over in the process. He bolted out the door, only vaguely aware of Cole shouting after him.

The keyword was LEGACY. It had been staring him in the face for weeks but he had it now and he sure as hell wasn't going to waste another nanosecond.

* * *

**[Author's Note]** I tried to put the Vigenère square in here, but FF was not having any of it. If you want to see what it looks like, go here: imgur dot com /Nkdg2aO


	13. Cross My Heart

**Chapter Twelve: Cross My Heart**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 9 Brume 17 A.E.**

"What do you mean, _no_?"

Major McLintock glowered at Baird. "What exactly is so hard to comprehend, Sergeant? I can't authorize any military action without approval from the Chief of Defence Staff, and my scheduled call with Colonel Hoffman isn't until tomorrow morning."

Baird was so angry that his whole body was shaking. He'd clenched his fist so tightly that his fingers had punched holes in the paper he was holding. "That's not good enough!"

"Surely Corporal Byrne can wait a few hours."

Only Cole's hand on Baird's shoulder stopped him from lunging forward over that ridiculous desk and punching the major. "You can't be fucking serious," he snarled.

"Oh, I'm very serious." McLintock's eyes narrowed. "You, on the other hand, seem to be overlooking the gravity of this situation. You expect me to just let you waltz in to this compound with a classified document and hand it over to people whose motives we can't even begin to guess?"

"I'm not going to give it to them, they just need to _think_ that I am!"

"How can I guarantee the safety of the information?"

"Because," Baird's voice was low and dangerous, "after everything they've done to Sam, I'm going to kill every single one of them."

Out of the corner of his eye, Baird saw Cole and Marcus exchange a look. Whatever. Let them worry about his compromised morality; Baird certainly didn't plan on doing it for them.

"You can't guarantee that," McLintock said. "We don't even know how many people there are."

"Yes, we do," Baird argued. "There are five. I can handle five scientists."

McLintock sniffed. "I, for one, am not content to let the success rate of this mission—if there even is to be one—rest on the word of a prisoner who is related to the very people you want to attack."

This was going nowhere. The major would never trust Gosse and, honestly, the rational part of Baird couldn't entirely blame him. Baird would never have believed Gosse for a second if he hadn't seen Sam's handwriting. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to convince McLintock. But Baird couldn't just sit here and do nothing while he waited for McLintock to give him the go-ahead.

_He's going to keep saying no until he talks to Hoffman in ten hours. I can't wait that long. Sam can't wait that long._

Marcus stepped forward. "Sir, I know that Colonel Hoffman would authorize this rescue mission."

McLintock rounded on him. "_I_ don't presume to speak for the Chief of Defence and neither should _you_, Fenix. This discussion is over. All of you—out of my office now."

Baird didn't even bother protesting. There was no point, not with McLintock, who couldn't give a rat's ass about Sam. But he didn't need McLintock's blessing to get off this island. A plan was already forming in his head.

"Baird," Cole said after McLintock had slammed the door behind them, "it's gonna be okay. We'll figure something out."

"I'll see you guys later," Baird said, waving them off. He knew what he had to do.

While Marcus and Cole went to find Anya in Pinnacle Tower—for what, Baird wasn't sure, but he didn't give a shit right now—Baird headed for the Acanthus. He hadn't been back to the hotel since the day Sam had been abducted. The thought of returning there now without her made him feel queasy, but he reassured himself by remembering it was just a stopover, not the final destination.

He was going to need his Lancer.

As Baird put on his armour in his hotel room, he made a mental list of all the places Mel Sorotki could be. Baird had no idea how to fly a Raven—a decided gap in his education—and that would be much faster than a boat. And harder to stop. Once McLintock figured out that Baird had busted Gosse out of prison, he had no doubt the major would be chasing them down. He had to get out of McLintock's reach as fast as he could.

Maybe Sorotki would take Baird willingly. The lieutenant always found time for Sam when he was at Anvil Gate. But Baird was also prepared to do some convincing—that was why he was bringing his pistol. Gettner was always an option, but Baird got the feeling that she could take him in a fight. She would only be his last resort.

_Okay. Get Gosse, get a Raven, get to the mainland. Form a better plan en route. _

He wasn't going to wait once second longer than necessary to rescue Sam.

He opened the door to find Cole and Marcus waiting for him in the hall. Of course they would have figured out what he was planning to do.

Baird wasn't in the mood for this. "If you're here to stop me, you can go to—"

"Stop you?" Marcus looked appalled. "We're here to _help_ you."

If Baird hadn't just been planning to hijack a Raven at gunpoint, he might have had it in him to be mildly embarrassed. As it was, his friends' help barely registered; it was just a development to which he adjusted quickly.

"Fantastic. Help me by keeping up."

"Anya and Jace went to get the kid," Cole explained. "Carmine's meeting us in the Raven hanger. Sorotki and Gettner are on board."

Again, Baird took in all this information without breaking stride. Cole and Marcus were almost jogging to keep up with him. He was focused now; nothing was going to distract him from his task. Tunnel vision. And at the end was his goal: Sam.

In the Raven hanger, KR Eight-Zero and KR-239 were already mostly ready for takeoff. Baird could see Gosse seated in Sorotki's bird, looking over a map with Anya. Carmine and Jace were helping Nat Barber and Kevan Mitchell load the Ravens. Given the efficiency at how the process was going, Baird got the feeling that this plan had in the works for some time.

He wasn't the only one dead set on rescuing Sam. He made a mental note to feel touched later, when this was all over. If this went well. If they weren't all behind bars this time tomorrow.

It suddenly occurred to Baird that it was incredibly selfish of him to blindly accept his friends' help. _He_ was well aware that he'd be in big trouble once he returned to Azura, but that didn't bother him in the slightest. It was a price he was more than willing to pay. Still, letting his friends just casually jump on board with a plan that would probably land them all in a jail cell didn't sit right with Baird.

"You guys don't have to do this," he said.

Marcus and Anya stopped loading KR-239; Jace and Carmine poked their heads out of Gettner's Raven to glare at Baird. Beside him, Cole chuckled. "We're not just gonna let you do this alone."

"We're going to be seriously in the shit," Baird continued. "Maybe even court-martialed."

Marcus gave him an even stare. "We know the risks. Doesn't mean we're going to back out."

"You're not the only one who loves Sam," Cole said.

Baird took in the scene before him: twelve Gears ready to fly two King Ravens without authorization on an unsanctioned rescue mission where they had no idea what awaited them. Punishment upon their return was a certainty, and yet no one showed any indication of being nervous or hesitant. There was a noticeable air of determination in the hanger.

_I guess I'm not._

Maybe the more selfish decision had been Baird's choice to attempt all of this on his own.

"All right, people, listen up." Marcus stepped forward and everyone formed a circle around him. "Here's the plan. Sorotki will take Baird, Cole, Gosse and myself in KR-239. Gettner will follow with Anya, Jace and Carmine. Once we're safely away from Azura, KR-Eight Zero will hang back and let our Raven get ahead. We'll land on the island first, and everyone knows the rest."

Heads bobbed up and down.

"Once we have Sam and take out the lab, we'll rendezvous back on Azura." Marcus paused briefly. "And whatever happens, happens."

Anya adjusted her Lancer. "Let's move out, people!"

Everyone headed for their assigned Ravens. As Baird turned around to check once more if anything had been forgotten, he saw Anya step towards Marcus and grab his hand. They gazed at each other for a few moments before she leaned in to kiss him. Baird whipped around, embarrassed. That moment was not meant for him any more than his eventual reunion with Sam would be meant for anyone else. At the back of his mind, he wondered how the couple was dealing with the threat of another court-martial hanging over Marcus's head.

"_We know the risks. Doesn't mean we're going to back out."_

Baird made a mental note: he would try to convince McLintock that he was solely to blame, and maybe Marcus and Anya and everybody else would get off easy.

"Come on!" Gettner was leaning out the door to her Raven's cockpit. "Let's take off before someone figures out what we're doing."

Baird hopped in the Raven, followed by Marcus and Cole. KR-239's rotor blades began to spin faster and faster, and then they were rising higher in the air. Baird's stomach curled with uncertainty and anticipation. This was it. They were going to save Sam. Get her back—and kill the bastards who hurt her.

The Raven had barely cleared the island before static was coming over the radio. Baird, Marcus and Cole crowded into the cockpit as a voice began to speak in their headsets.

"_KR-239, this is Azura CIC. You do not have permission to leave the island. Please turn around immediately."_

It was Corporal Aigle, ordering them back. "Pardon me while I proceed not to give a shit," Baird muttered under his breath.

And then there was another voice: _"Baird, I know this is your doing. Turn that goddamn Raven back this instant! Fenix, listen to me. I am your commanding officer and I—"_

"Can we kill this noise?" Marcus growled.

"With pleasure," Sorotki answered, and flicked a switch.

Baird backed out of the cockpit and into the crew bay. It would be a few painful hours before they made it to their destination on the mainland. He leaned up against the side of the door and stared out over the vast expanse of ocean.

_I'm coming, Sam. Just hold on a little longer. I'm coming._

* * *

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 9 Brume 17 A.E.**

They'd taken her to see the monster again yesterday.

Despite her exhaustion, Sam was shaking violently. It couldn't still be the adrenaline in her system; that should have dissipated hours after her visit with Yeva. She hadn't slept in almost two days—that was probably it. Who could sleep after coming face-to-face with a creature made of nightmares? If Sam even closed her eyes for a second, the terrifying images came to her: Yeva's snout only inches away, the blood-curdling scream accompanied by the horrendous stench of her breath…

Sam wrapped her arms around her body, gripping tightly.

Her wrists were bloody and torn after struggling so violently against the metal manacles. She'd had to tear strips from her shirt to bandage them. At least the handcuffs were no longer present to rub against her wounds; those had been removed after her trip to Yeva's chamber, when she'd collapsed into a trembling mess on the floor of her cell. Apparently the scientists figured she was no longer a threat to them.

_They're not wrong. I don't think I even have the strength to take a swing at anyone._

And then Sam's thoughts drifted to the subject she was desperately trying not to think about: _Damon, where are you?_

She didn't know how long Gosse had been gone. Without a consistent schedule for anything, it was hard to keep track of the time. And now, during her taped torture, they'd stopped asking her to repeat the date. She didn't know if that should worry her. But Gosse had gone to get help and he'd be coming back soon—with Baird.

The thought of Damon—of hearing him again, _seeing_ him again—was enough to drive her crazy. She allowed herself to think of him in little bursts. Just enough to keep her going, but not enough to paralyze her with longing. He was coming; she knew that.

_But when? Oh god, when?_

She heard footsteps in the hall.

The bubble of hope that swelled under her ribcage burst almost instantly. Those were too light to be Gear boots. She composed herself quickly, rubbing the unshed tears from her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. It was more out of spite now than anything else, her refusal to let them see her break. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

A few moments later, the door opened to reveal Platt. Sam was expecting one of the men to be beside the female scientist, but evidently she was on her own. They _really_ didn't think Sam posed a threat if they were only sending Platt now.

_I'd like to wring her scrawny neck._

"Come on, Miss Byrne. Is there any point in resisting?"

Sam slowly got to her feet. She could still have some agency in this; she wouldn't be dragged crying and screaming down the hall; she had some dignity.

A few days ago, she might have quipped about what was on the schedule today. As it was now, she didn't even have the energy to muster her defiant scowl as Platt led her through the corridors, their arms linked like they were friends.

_He's coming,_ Sam told herself when they reached the torture room. _He's coming for me. I just need to hold on._

She could do it. She _would_ do it.

Sam had only just sat down on the chair when there was a flurry of knocks from the other side of the door. Annoyance flickered across Platt's face.

"Occupied!" Platt called out sweetly.

"Mom, it's me!" came the muffled reply. "Open up, hurry!"

_Gosse!_

Platt turned on her heel as Sam struggled to look around the other woman. She wanted to see, she _needed_ to see, had Gosse brought—?

Then the door was open and someone was stumbling inside, hands tied behind his back. It took Sam a moment to recognize who it was, simply because she hadn't been expecting to see him here.

_Cole?_

Yes, it was Cole, looking pissed off and betrayed. Gosse stood behind him in the doorway holding a Lancer, a panicked expression on his face. "I caught him sneaking around," Gosse explained hurriedly.

Sam's heart sank deep down into her chest. _What?_ Had she been played this whole time? Had Gosse just been acting the perfect role of confused child? She'd sent him for help, and he'd come back with more prisoners. Did that mean that Baird was—?

A high-pitched wailing filled the air. The lights suddenly began to flicker. What the hell was going on?

Platt was alarmed. "Your father!" she cried to Gosse.

"Go, I can watch them," Gosse said.

Platt hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then she was gone. The moment she disappeared, Gosse turned to Cole and pulled out a knife. Panic flared up in Sam's chest but before she could scream at Cole to watch out, Gosse had sliced through the rope binding Cole's hands together.

_What?_

"Aww hell, Sam."

Cole was at her side in an instant. He held out his hand and Gosse passed him the Lancer. Sam squeezed her eyes shut as Cole revved up the chainsaw bayonette, shearing through her metal handcuffs.

"Gus, what's happening? Where's—?"

"We're rescuing you, Sammy." Cole helped her to her feet, draping one of her arms over his shoulders. She practically fell against him, barely able to stand, weak from confusion. "Anya, Jace and Clay took out the generators. Baird and Marcus are dealing with the leader."

_Damon!_ He was here. Her vision began to blur but she blinked back the tears. She wouldn't cry—not now, not yet.

"Gosse, go help Anya set the charges," Cole said.

Gosse nodded once and then he was gone, too.

Cole began to walk forward, supporting most of Sam's weight. "Sorotki and Gettner are waiting for us outside. I'm getting you the hell out of here on KR-239 and Gettner's taking everybody else."

_I'm getting out of here. This is really happening._

But there was something nagging Sam, something at the edges of her awareness, warning her of danger, trying to break through the fog of her disorientation. She looked up at the flickering lights.

"_The door is electrified, otherwise she will break her way out."_

"_Anya, Jace and Clay took out the generators."_

It all clicked together. This was bad. Very, very, _very_ bad. Her rescue party didn't know; how could they possibly know? She had to warn them.

"Cole, wait." She clutched at his shoulder. "Listen to me. We have to get the power back on _now_."

Cole shook his head. "Then they'll be able to lock us in."

"No, you don't understand. They have a Berserker; it's going to get out!"

"Sam." Cole turned his face towards her. "The grubs are dead."

Why wasn't he listening to her? Why didn't he understand? And then she caught sight of his eyes—full of worry and fear, but not for himself. Of course. He'd watched her be tortured for weeks and now she was insisting that a Berserker was alive when everybody knew that the Locust were dead. He probably thought she'd been driven mad. But he needed to believe her. Her friends were running around in these underground tunnels, completely unaware of the danger they were in.

"No, no, no, I know," she said, trying to sound forceful but coming off as desperate. "But they wanted to bring the grubs back, that's what it's all about, they have a Berserker, took out the lambent cells, please, you have to warn everybody, you have to warn Damon…"

She was saved from any further convincing when they rounded the corner and came upon Yeva.

The Berserker was standing in the middle of the corridor, tensed up and ready. The chains that she'd pulled out of the wall hung uselessly by her side. Cole froze instantly as Sam clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out in fear. Being trapped in a room with the Berserker when she was chained up had been bad, but now they were out in the open with the beast, nothing to protect them…

Any second now she'd smell them, and it would be all over.

"Sam." Cole's voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him over the alarms. "I'll be a diversion. You make a run for it, okay?"

"Gus, you can't—"

"Baird trusted me to get you out of here and that's what I'm gonna do."

No, she couldn't let him do that—die for her. Because that's what would happen in these narrow halls. The Berserker would catch up to Cole in no time, run him down and—She couldn't bear to think of it. But Cole was already starting to raise his Lancer, ready to push her out of the way once he got the monster's attention.

The Berserker's head turned slightly towards them.

And then, at the other end of the hall, Rourke and Platt rounded the corner.

Rourke shouted something as he caught sight of Yeva. Before Platt could stop him, he'd drawn his sidearm and fired at the Berserker. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off Yeva's head and she jerked towards the scientists, snarling. Platt let out a terrified scream and turned around, followed closely by Rourke. Yeva charged after them, her roar echoing in the tunnel.

"Go!" Cole yelled, and then his finger was on his tac-com. "Everybody, head's up—there's a Berserker down here!" He paused as someone answered him. "It _is_ possible because I just had eyes on it!" Another pause. "Yeah, she's with me, she's okay. We're almost out."

Sam knew that it was Baird on the other end. A desperate longing welled up inside her; she was tempted to ask Cole for his earpiece but she knew that would be a bad idea. If she heard Baird's voice… she'd probably collapse into a useless heap, and Cole would have to carry her out of the caves. _It can wait. I'll see him soon._

Still, Cole basically had to drag her out of the Hollow. Her legs weren't used to this much exercise at once and she kept falling against him. Outside of the main entrance to the caves, two Ravens sat waiting. The crew bay door on the closest Raven was open, and Cole hauled her in that direction. When they got closer, Kevan Mitchell appeared and stretched out his arms.

Cole lifted Sam off the ground like she weighed no more than a child. Mitchell's hands grasped her shoulders and he pulled her into the crew bay. The Raven's rotorblades started up, drowning out everything else. Then Cole hopped on board and they were taking off.

Sam slumped down in her seat. Now that adrenaline was no longer thrumming through her system, she could feel the fatigue quickly catching up with her. Cole and Mitchell were talking to each other; she couldn't hear them without a headset. She struggled to keep her eyes open for a few minutes, watching as the landscape grew smaller and smaller beneath the Raven. Panic lanced through her—they were leaving Baird behind, they had to go back, she didn't want to go until she could see him—

_Calm down. It's okay. Gettner is waiting for him._

She closed her eyes to blink and found she didn't have the strength to open them again. There was no point in fighting to stay awake any longer. Before she lost consciousness, her last thought was of Baird. She knew he'd be there when she woke up.

* * *

**[Author's Note] **Not entirely happy with this, but I'm leaving for England in like five hours and I wanted to give you guys something before I went on vacation without my laptop :)


	14. Push

**Chapter Thirteen: Push**

**Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 9 Brume 17 A.E.**

KR-239 had started its final descent, and it was all Baird could do to stop himself from leaping out of the Raven and running on ahead. But that wasn't the plan. He wasn't even supposed to _see_ Sam until everyone made it back to Azura. It was killing him, knowing that she was down there somewhere and he wouldn't be looking for her, but this wasn't about what he wanted. It was about getting Sam the hell away from here and making sure the scientists couldn't touch her ever again.

The Raven's wheels hit the ground. Again, Baird had to forcibly resist bolting forward. There were two figures dressed in white coats waiting just beyond the LZ, and they probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot Baird if he so much as blinked wrong. If he died before he made it to Sam, he'd haunt her afterlife.

"Welcome back, Gosse," one man said when they stepped out of the Raven.

Gosse nodded at them. "Dr. Morrow, Dr. Ward. Where's my father?"

"Waiting for you in his lab. Kenton and I will escort you. Gosse, I assume that you've—"

"Checked them for weapons, yes," Gosse finished.

Baird was struck by how close to the truth Gosse kept his statements. Yes, the kid had checked them for weapons—and said nothing about the Boltok pistols tucked in the back of their pants.

"Well, shall we then?" Ward took a step backwards.

Marcus turned to Cole. "You stay with the Raven. We'll be back soon."

And then Gosse made his move, ducking back into KR-239 and pulling out the spare Lancer. He pointed it at Cole, whose face darkened. "What the hell, kid?"

Gosse nudged Cole with the tip of the rifle. "This one was going to break out the prisoner."

Cole gave a very convincing growl; Baird didn't even have to pretend to be outraged. "You little shit," Baird snarled. "Don't think this is over."

"Gentlemen, please!" Morrow beamed. "I'll take you to Dr. Samson and you can complete the deal. There's no need for violence—or to mention your little plot. Gosse, take their friend to the holding cell. Your mother's there now. They can pick the two of them up once the transaction is done."

_Transaction._ Like he was bartering for Sam like she was livestock. He clenched his jaw and bit back an insult. There was no point in antagonizing these people now. Not when he was so close. So he followed the scientists into the Hollow, casting one last glance over his shoulder to see Gosse leading Cole down a different hallway.

_Don't die. And bring her back safe._

It killed him to think that Sam could be behind any of the doors he was passing. The scientists probably thought it was in their best interest to keep the two of them apart, to continue using her as a bargaining chip for as long as possible—They couldn't have been more wrong. If Baird so much as caught a glimpse of Sam, he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself. His determination, his rage, the _plan_—everything would instantly disappear from his mind, replaced by an overwhelming desire to touch her again.

But while Sam was hidden away, he was focused on the task at hand. Their little show of theatrics upon arrival had served its purpose. Gosse had "foiled" an attempted rescue before it even began; the others wouldn't be expecting a second Raven to land ten minutes later, or for three more Gears to enter the Hollow undetected. And how could they possibly know that those Gears, armed with a map of the support columns in the network of tunnels, would be carrying blast charges?

It was a good plan, and Baird hadn't had anything to do with its formulation. Marcus and Anya had come up with everything while Baird was busy contemplating grand theft air.

Guilt twinged inside of him, but he pushed it away. He didn't have time for that right now. He could beat himself up to his heart's content once this was all said and done.

Morrow finally stopped at a door, and punched in some numbers on the electronic lock. He made a show of covering up his hands so neither Baird nor Marcus could see the password. Not that it mattered. Once the others took out the generator, the electronic locks would be useless. Ward pushed the door open and indicated that Baird and Marcus should enter first. Baird took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Ira Samson was waiting for them in the middle of the room. He was wearing an immaculate white lab coat, his arms clasped behind his back. It took all of Baird's willpower to resist charging forward and punching the bastard right in the gut.

_Soon. Just wait a little longer._

Marcus came in behind Baird, followed by Morrow and Ward. The door closed behind them, making a brief whirring sound as it locked. The scientists thought they were trapping Baird and Marcus inside with them; they didn't realise it was the other way around.

"Sergeant Baird! How nice it is to finally meet you in person." Samson grinned at him, like they were long-lost friends.

Baird's hands curled into fists at his side. He was going to kill this man but he had to wait—he had to buy Cole and the others as much time as possible.

"I must admit," Samson continued, "it took much longer than I expected for you to find the keyword. Perhaps I took the wrong hostage. You must not care about Miss Byrne very much to leave her here for so long."

It was a taunt, such an obvious provocation, but that didn't stop a stab of rage surging through him. "I did _everything_ I could," Baird growled, "don't you _dare_ question—"

"We had a deal," Marcus interrupted, stepping forward. "Where's Sam?"

The scientist shook his head. "In good time. I will of course have to validate your findings. I know Gosse said over the radio that everything was in order, but forgive me for wanting a little more proof."

Baird instinctively took a step back. Despite the fact that this whole setup was a rouse—Anya, Carmine and Jace were running around with miniature _bombs_, for fuck's sake—Baird was not exactly willing to give up the only thing keeping Sam alive. He didn't know what the hell was going on outside this room; someone could be listening in to this conversation, holding a gun to Sam's head and just waiting until they were finally allowed to pull the trigger. He wasn't being paranoid; how was he supposed to trust anybody after everything that they'd done?

Marcus turned to look at him. "Baird," he said quietly. "It's okay."

It wasn't okay. How could it _possibly_ be okay? But there was something about Marcus's calm demeanor that demanded authority, and Baird found himself holding out the stack of papers—Austen's research, his _tabula recta_, everything. Samson snatched it greedily from his fingers.

_Please, just… Sam._

He watched, rigid and still as a statue, as Ira leafed through the pages. His face fell slightly. "Ah, you've only translated the first page."

"The keyword is written on the top," Baird said, his words clipped. _Come on, guys. Where are you?_

"LEGACY? How very interesting. Not what I would have expected from Brett, but no matter." Samson put the research neatly on a table next to him. "I hope you won't mind staying until I have this deciphered in its entirety."

"You're damn right I mind!" Baird's voice was a low, aggressive rumble. "You said—"

And then everything went black and an alarm began to scream.

Anya, Jace and Carmine had made it to the generator. Baird knew that emergency lighting would kick in soon, so they had to act quickly. However, before he could go for his hidden pistol, there were two shots and bright muzzle flashes. Samson's startled shout sounded from somewhere in front of Baird, so he was still alive.

_Good. I've got a lot planned._

The lights flickered back on. Baird whipped around, satisfied to see Ward and Morrow lying in crumpled piles on the ground, twin bullet holes in the middle of their foreheads. Marcus was brandishing his Boltok, his face as impassable as ever.

Cole's voice suddenly filled Baird's ears. _"Everybody, head's up—there's a Berserker down here!"_

_A Berserker? _Baird's finger flew to his ear as his pulse went through the roof. "What? That's impossible!"

"_It _is_ possible because I just had eyes on it!"_ Cole fired back. There was no mistaking the tight edge to his voice.

And then Baird's brain finally caught up. If Cole was breaking radio silence, he'd done it—he'd made it to Sam. Sam—why hadn't Cole mentioned her yet? Was there something wrong, something he couldn't bear to say? Baird didn't even bother trying to keep the panic out of his voice as he asked, "What's going on with Sam, where is she, how is she, can—"

"_Yeah, she's with me, she's okay,"_ Cole cut in. _"We're almost out."_

He could finally breathe again. Cole had her, she was safe. Baird would trust Cole with his life; he knew he could trust his friend to get her back to Azura unharmed.

And now, Baird couldn't resist a little taunting of his own. "That kid's been very helpful," he said to Samson.

Ira's eyes flicked back to him; the alarmed expression on his face was _very_ gratifying. "Gosse? He wouldn't—he would never—"

"Couldn't have done it without him." Baird flashed his teeth. "Thanks for sending him along."

"I can't believe that—"

"No, you're done talking."

Baird reached around behind him, drew his Boltok, and fired once.

The bullet caught Samson high in the shoulder. He cried out and stumbled back a few paces—it was music to Baird's ears. He felt a smile creeping up on his face. Samson didn't have time to react before Baird closed the distance between them, reaching forward to grab the injured shoulder and dig his thumb into the bullet hole.

"You feel that?" Baird leaned in close. "That's _nothing_, compared to what you did to her. What I'm going to do to you."

Samson was writhing under his grip, pleading and moaning incoherently. It wasn't enough; it wasn't even _close_. Baird pointed his Boltok at the scientist's knee. One shot would bring him down, keep him from slipping away like the eel he was, and—

Suddenly Marcus was there. He shoved himself between Baird and Samson, knocking Baird back. And then before Baird could do anything, Marcus had the barrel of his gun up against Samson's temple. The shot echoed around the lab. Samson slumped to the floor, a shocked look on the half of his face that was still intact.

Baird rounded on Marcus. "How could you? _How could you?_" He didn't care that his voice cracked as he shrieked in rage.

"Because, Baird, you don't want to be that man."

"Oh, _I don't want to be that man._ That's fucking _rich_, coming from you. You got to put Myrrah down, and then you do _this?_ You fucking hypocrite."

"Yeah, I did take Myrrah out. But it was quick, and clean. This… wasn't going to be either of those things."

"But you don't—"

"You don't think I lie awake at night, fantasizing about doing it differently? Because _I do._ I'd make her suffer. Dig that knife in deeper. Twist it more. Tear her apart. God, I _dream_ about it. And the worst part is that it feels _so damn good._ And that terrifies me. I don't want to be that person. But if you want to be, then be my guest. Sit here and mutilate his corpse. But if you do, I don't think you're the kind of man Sam deserves."

He started towards Marcus, seething. "You fucking—"

"_She needs you, Baird!" _Marcus's voice was louder and angrier than Baird had ever heard it before. "She needs you, and you're not running to her side. You're standing here, yelling at me for refusing to let you torture someone."

"He was a _monster_," Baird said quietly.

"I know." Marcus stepped closer, putting his hand on Baird's shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you have to be one too."

"Fuck you for being right all the time."

He could swear that Marcus almost smirked. "Thanks." He glanced at the notes on the table beside them. "McLintock would probably want us to bring those back."

Beside the notes, a Bunsen burner stood waiting. "Fuck what he wants," Baird said. He flicked the burner on and picked up Austen's research paper—the damn thing that had started everything. He wished they'd never found it.

Marcus didn't say anything as Baird let the small blue flame lick at the corner of the papers. He just watched as the fire crept up each page; neither condemnation nor approval was evident in his expression; Baird didn't have time for either. When the flame got too close to Baird's fingers, he dropped the burning notes onto Samson's body.

"Let's go," Baird said, turning away from the scene, "and blow this place to hell."


	15. Prodigal

**[Author's Note] **And, at long last, the reunion. Only two more chapters to go.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Prodigal**

**Azura, Serano Ocean. 10 Brume 17 A.E.**

The Raven hadn't even touched down yet before Baird leapt out of the crew bay. He stumbled as he hit the ground, nearly rolled his ankle, but then he was running. Behind him, he was dimly aware of Marcus shouting—but whether it was directed at him or not, Baird didn't care. The only thing that mattered right now was getting to the hospital as quickly as humanly possible.

He hadn't heard from Cole since Sorotki's Raven had left the mainland; they'd had to keep their comms on send-only in case McLintock or anyone else at Azura decided to interfere. But there was only one place Cole could have taken Sam: the Cymbaria Centre, the main hospital on the island, connected to the Solarium. And Baird was barrelling towards it now.

His standard issue Gear boots made quite the racket as he sprinted across the marble floors. People looked at him, wondered where he could be going in such a hurry, but Baird didn't even register their attention. His mind was stuck on a repetitive loop: _Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam._ And then there it was, at the end of the hallway—the entrance to Cymbaria. Baird's lungs were burning already but he picked up the pace and exploded through the white double doors into the waiting area.

He stopped abruptly, suddenly unsure how to proceed. The lobby was quiet; only a handful of people sat around in the leather armchairs, waiting to be called inside. There was another set of doors across the room that Baird figured had to lead to the patient rooms, but he also got the feeling that if he rushed towards those doors he'd end up getting tackled by orderlies and a sedative forced into his veins.

Then a familiar figure getting to his feet caught Baird's eye.

"Cole!" Baird gasped, jogging towards his friend. "Where is she? Is she okay? I need—"

"Slow down, baby," Cole said, holding his hands up. "She's fine. Mathieu kicked me out so he could look her over. He said he'd come out when he was done."

"Oh thank god."

Baird bent forward, hands on his knees, sucking in air. But he couldn't relax, not yet, not until he saw her. _Sam._

Cole placed a hand on Baird's shoulder and steered him to a chair. "Sit down before you pass out. You look like you just ran a mile."

Instead of responding with a quip, Baird turned in his seat to face Cole beside him. "Gus, _thank you_. For everything. For doing what I couldn't."

Cole smiled softly. "It was my genuine pleasure, baby."

* * *

Time passed excruciatingly slowly.

Every time Baird looked at the clock hanging on the wall opposite, he expected _hours_ to have passed; and every time he looked, he found it had barely been two minutes. How long was he supposed to just sit here and wait? It was almost as bad as it had been before the rescue mission because he knew she was _here_, in the same building, separated only by a few walls—and he couldn't do anything about it.

Cole would reach over every few minutes and give his leg a supportive squeeze. But it was easy for Cole; he'd seen Sam, talked to her, held her. Baird hadn't felt the warmth of her body in… he didn't even want to think how long. He was in a strange limbo now—his fear that something horrible would happen to Sam before he could get to her had abated, but there was still an all-consuming need to see her burning in his chest. She was here, in the same building as him, and somehow that was almost worse.

Suddenly Cole nudged him. Baird's head snapped up, his frantic eyes fixing on the white double doors. Mathieu had emerged, staring down at a file folder. The doctor wasn't wearing his customary white lab coat, which struck Baird as rather odd, but he was on his feet before he could give Mathieu's wardrobe choice another thought.

Mathieu heard the approaching footsteps and looked up. "Ah, Sergeant Baird. Please accept my apologies for the wait, but I wanted to get as much done as possible."

"Can I see her?" Baird practically gasped.

"Of course. Follow me."

Baird glanced over his shoulder at Cole, who was still seated. His friend raised a hand and nodded, giving Baird the okay to go ahead alone. Mathieu pushed open the double doors and stepped through the threshold, with Baird following close—too close—behind. They walked in silence down the white corridor, Mathieu with calm purpose and Baird doing his best not to demand they pick up the pace.

Finally, Mathieu stopped outside a room at the end of the hall. Baird was already reaching for the doorknob when Mathieu stopped him. "She's asleep," the doctor said gently. "I gave her a sedative to help her rest. She was exhausted and practically jumping at her own shadow."

Baird's gut clenched as he imagined Sam terrified, waiting for him, and he hadn't made it to her before she'd fallen asleep. "But she's okay?"

Mathieu sighed. "She was subjected to a great deal of trauma. It was hard to examine her thoroughly, but I'd guess she has at least a few cracked—if not broken—bones, she's malnourished and dehydrated, and her wrists will need a lot of attention to avoid permanent scarring."

"Her wrists? What—?"

"It appears that she was restrained and she fought quite hard to escape. And as for how she's doing mentally, I'm sure it will come as no surprise that she's going to need counselling. Don't worry, Sergeant, I'm already preparing."

Nodding along, Baird was finding it harder and harder to ignore the growing desperation in his chest. He needed to hear all this, he knew that, it would help in Sam's recovery, but—

_Hang on._ "Why are you telling me this?" Baird asked. "Isn't there physician-patient privilege or something?"

"You're correct, but Corporal Byrne has you down as her emergency contact. She's given any of her doctors the legal authority to tell you anything."

"She what?" Baird's head was spinning. "When did she do that?"

Mathieu glanced down at the file. "Looks like… eight months ago. Storm sixteenth."

Eight months ago. Just after they'd moved in together. A sudden wave of guilt hit Baird as he realised that the thought had never even crossed his mind. The last time he'd thought about who his emergency contact was, he'd been enlisted for all of an hour. A secretary had chased him down, informing him with a polite smile that he hadn't filled out his ICE information. When she'd asked who he wanted to put down, he'd told her (not very nicely), "Whoever the fuck you want." He wondered if his in case of emergency contact was still his first CO, Ezra Loomis.

Mathieu was still talking but Baird was finding it increasingly hard to focus. He could hear all this again later; right now he just needed to see Sam.

"Doc, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment," Baird said, fighting to keep his voice even. "Can we do this later?"

"Of course." Mathieu gave him a very believable assuring smile. "Yes, of course. Come see me at your convenience; I'll make sure I'm available."

Baird nodded weakly as Mathieu stepped around him and headed towards the next patient's room. Then Baird turned his attention to the door in front of him. He reached towards the doorknob, noticing that his hand was trembling with—what? Anticipation? Fear? Excitement? He'd been clawing his way to this moment for so long; he was terrified that the other shoe was about to drop.

His fingers curled around the silver knob. He turned it. Pushed the door open.

His heart leapt into his throat.

It was a beautiful room, much nicer than anything available at Anvil Gate. A private bathroom, lovely watercolour paintings decorating the walls, an open window framed by creamy curtains that looked out over the ocean. But Baird wasn't paying attention to any of that. His gaze was drawn to the single bed tucked in the corner and the woman sleeping on it.

_Sam._

The door swung shut behind him with a soft click. He took one step forward. Then another. She hadn't vanished yet; he hadn't woken up. Though she was asleep, she didn't look peaceful. Her head was turned slightly away from him, but he could see the slight crease between her eyebrows and the way her mouth pulled down. The gentle breeze from the open window had blown some of her hair across her face.

Beside the bed was a large armchair. He repositioned it so that he could sit and face her. And then he reached for her hand.

His fingers skimmed gently over her skin, and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He'd half-convinced himself that this was all part of some psychotic break, that he'd snapped and lost it sometime between Gosse arriving and the discovery of the keyword, that this was all just a prolonged delusion. But now… He was touching her now, holding her hand, feeling her skin against his. He doubted that any fantasy he could dream up could recreate Sam so perfectly.

He fiercely wanted to wake her up, to talk with her, but he knew that she needed the rest. She'd been through hell; it would be incredibly selfish of him to pull her out of sleep just to satisfy his own desires. Besides, he was with her now. He was with her and it wasn't a dream and he felt himself slowly begin to relax.

And then the bruises on her body hit him like a torque bow bolt.

It had been a slow burn, a realisation lurking just under the waters of his consciousness. He'd been so overjoyed to see her that he hadn't noticed—how could he not have seen—Cracked or broken bones, Mathieu had said. And yeah, that really wouldn't surprise Baird now if that were the case. A massive greenish-yellow bruise on her cheekbone, tiny little purple fingerprints along her arms, something that looks alarmingly like a cigarette burn just above her tattoo, her wrists covered in bandages…

"_It appears that she was restrained and she fought quite hard to escape."_

Samson was dead. He had to keep reminding himself that as an inarticulate rage swirled inside him. Samson was dead. Baird would have liked to be the one to put the bullet in his brain, but the end result was the same. He was dead and he couldn't hurt Sam ever again.

Baird leaned forward to brush some wayward hairs out of Sam's face; his chest tightened as he noticed how gaunt her cheeks were. Hopefully the hospital food here was better than at Anvil Gate. He settled back in his chair, slipping his hand into hers again.

_I can't just keep staring and waiting for her to wake up. That's just a bit creepy._

His eyes skimmed the room, settling on an old magazine resting on the bedside table. He pulled it into his lap without letting go of Sam's hand and began to flip through it. The articles were laughably outdated, full of fashions from countries that no longer existed. It was an odd sensation, reading something that had been written before E-Day; he didn't know if he was supposed to feel sentimental or sad.

While he read, he kept checking on Sam, little glances, to make sure that she was in the same place she had been five seconds ago, which was stupid and paranoid. Stupid, because she wasn't going anywhere, wasn't going to magically vanish if he stopped looking at her, but he felt a little better, just making sure.

* * *

Sam woke with a violent start.

She yanked her hand away from Baird's and scrabbled backwards in her bed, trying to escape whatever threat she perceived. Her eyes were wide and panicked as they darted around the unfamiliar room, her breath was coming in deep, erratic gulps—she looked so goddamn _terrified_. Her fearful gaze finally settled on Baird's face and she froze.

Baird suddenly found it very hard to breathe. "Hi," he managed to choke out over the lump in his throat.

"Hi," she whispered back.

And then her face crumpled and tears welled up in her eyes as she stretched her arms towards him. He wasted no time in pulling her close, holding her tightly as her hands clutched at his shirt with an urgency that made his heart ache. She buried her face into his shoulder as her whole body began to tremble. He turned his head towards hers, pressing his forehead against her hair. Under the scent of hospital disinfectant and the obnoxious floral air freshener, she smelled right and whole. She was safe now.

She started to cry. It was probably the first time she'd allowed herself to be weak since she'd been taken.

"Hey, hey, hey," he heard himself saying. "It's okay, I've got you, I'm here now, I've got you."

In his arms, she was solid and warm. He never wanted to let her go again.

"Is this real?" she asked, hiccupping a little bit.

"Yes, it's real." He held her tighter, kissed her hair. "It's real and I love you so, so much."

"I love _you_," she choked out, before dissolving into sobs again.

He was very conscious of how frail her body felt in his arms, afraid that if he squeezed to hard—like he so desperately wanted to—she would break. But it was Sam who seemed to be trying to cling to him as closely as possible as she gasped like she was drowning.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," he said over and over again because maybe if he said enough times that would make it true.

Suddenly Sam stiffened in his arms, and he realised that someone had come into the room. Refusing to let her go just yet, Baird craned his neck to see their audience. It was a nurse in a long white lab coat, and from the way Sam was beginning to shake slightly, Baird figured out why Mathieu hadn't been wearing that.

"Yes?" Baird asked tersely.

"There's quite a crowd gathered in the waiting area," the nurse said. "They'd like to know if they could come in."

Baird turned to meet Sam's eyes. "Do you want to see them? You can say no."

Sam shook her head. "No, I'm okay," she said quietly.

"Yeah, they can come," Baird said to the nurse, and then added quickly, "unless it's Major McLintock." He'd have to deal with the major sooner or later, but he certainly didn't want the inevitable shouting match to happen anywhere near Sam.

The nurse nodded and left. As soon as he was out the door, Sam started to scrub her eyes, wiping away any traces of her tears. When she was finished, she looked to Baird and asked, "How do I look?" There was only a hint of her playful tone, and her mouth seemed to be twitching with the effort it took to grin.

"Beautiful," he answered, because she _did_, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd called her that.

Her smile faded slightly, but before he had a chance to ask what was wrong, their friends were spilling into the room.

"Baby!" Cole yelled, a massive beam on his face.

Anya looked about ready to cry, and even though she appeared to be holding Marcus's hand in a death grip, Marcus was still smiling softly. Jace and Carmine pushed forward into the room, past the Raven crews. Sorotki and Mitchell hung back with Gettner and Barber, awkward but relieved.

As everyone surged forward, Sam's hand shot out to grab Baird's wrist. He whipped his head back to her, alarmed, but Sam seemed to be controlling herself just fine. She was jumpy, like Mathieu had said; that didn't mean she didn't want to see all her friends. Baird smoothly extracted himself from her grasp and twisted his hand until he was holding hers.

"Where's Gosse?" Sam asked.

An unexpected and frankly ridiculous bolt of annoyance lanced through Baird. Why did she care about the kid? He'd been one of the bastards who—No, he had to calm down, think about this rationally. Gosse had been the only person she could trust and, as much as Baird hated to admit it, Sam would probably still be in the Hollow if it hadn't been for the kid.

"Back in the holding cells," Anya said. "McLintock wasn't exactly thrilled that we—"

"I'll talk to him about it later," Baird said. He didn't want Sam knowing how much trouble they were all about to be in.

Sam shot him a quizzical look but he shook his head as if to say _later_. Slowly, Sam turned back to the others.

Baird didn't participate in the conversation. For a while, everyone gushed over how glad they were that Sam was back safe and sound, and she answered their questions, assured them that she was fine. But then talk turned to things that had happened while she was gone—the thrashball tournament, the new cooks, the continued renovations of the Solarium. They were trying to make Sam feel at home, talking of mundane things, bitching about minor changes, and Baird was foolish enough to think it was working for a little while. But then he glanced at her face and his stomach dropped.

Her eyes were glazed and unfocused. She nodded along with the conversation, speaking only when it would have been awkward to keep silent, and not fidgeting at all. Baird squeezed her hand gently, offered her a small, discreet smile, but she barely reacted. She looked at him briefly and then went back to staring at a spot on the wall a few inches to the right of Anya's head.

Cole picked up on the change in Sam's demeanour moments later. He caught Baird's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay guys, I think we should probably give these two some _alone time_." He waggled his eyebrows, playing it as a joke to draw attention back to him.

Jace smirked and Carmine coughed uncomfortably. Baird glowered at them, disgusted that they could think he would try to jump Sam's bones only _hours_ after she'd been rescued. He tried not to take it personally, but still—he wasn't that callous.

As their friends shuffled reluctantly out of the room, Cole lingered for a moment by Baird's side. He patted Baird a couple times on the shoulder before he grinned at Sam one last time.

And then they were alone again.

Baird eased himself out of the chair and slowly sat down on the edge of Sam's bed. There were tears in her eyes again; his stomach clenched at the sight.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and then flinched. What a stupid question.

Sam let out a choked laugh. "Not really," she said, wiping at her eyes again. "But it'll get better."

"What can I do?"

She shuffled to one side of the bed. "Just… hold me."

Yeah. He could do that.

* * *

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, holding each other in silence. It could have been an hour or a day, but the passing of time no longer mattered. At one point Sam dozed off, her head lolling against his shoulder with every breath. Logically, Baird knew he should be exhausted too: he'd gone weeks without proper sleep, he'd hardly eaten except to keep his ragged body going, and the adrenaline that had got him through the rescue mission had long since worn off.

But he wouldn't sleep. He couldn't. Not when he'd slept through her abduction. She deserved sleep now, to rest and recover. He would maintain his vigil.

There was a knock at the door. As soft as it was, Sam twitched and groaned as she came awake. She stiffened momentarily and then relaxed as she got her bearings.

"The door," Baird said as he slipped off the cot. "I'll get it."

Mathieu was waiting in the hall, still not wearing his white coat. He motioned for Baird to join him outside of the room.

"Is something wrong?" Baird asked after the door had closed behind him.

"Not at all," Mathieu said. "I'm just here to tell you that visiting hours will be over in ten minutes."

"_Visiting hours_?" Baird only just managed to keep his voice down. "You've got to be frigging kidding me. You expect me to just _leave_?"

Mathieu stared at him evenly. "Yes, I do. Corporal Byrne has been through something traumatic and she needs to start processing what happened to her. Whether you think so or not, your presence will be a hindrance to that process. I've read her psych evals; I know that she puts on a brave face so others won't see her suffer. While you're with her, she won't deal with the memories. She'll bottle them up until they overwhelm her, and that's not healthy. So while I understand it's hard for you to hear, she needs time alone to begin the healing process."

Some part of Baird still wanted to protest, to demand an exception to the rule, even just for one night. But the rational part of him begrudgingly agreed with Mathieu—the doctor knew much more about healing and trauma than Baird.

"All right," he sighed.

"Don't worry, I won't leave her alone for too long. Now that she's had a chance to calm down and accept this isn't a dream she'll wake up from, I'll have a talk with her and determine how best to help her."

Of course. Mathieu the counsellor, the one who had been helping Gettner get over her depression and apathy. Baird recalled the flight to Azura, when he'd felt uneasy in Gettner's Raven because he knew she was having sessions with Mathieu. How incredibly insensitive of him.

"Just let me say goodbye."

"By all means."

When Baird re-entered the room, he found Sam staring intently at the door, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. A few of the worry lines on her face disappeared when she saw him; it made the prospecting of leaving so much harder.

"Mathieu's kicking me out," he said, standing beside her bed.

Despite her attempt to hide it, Baird noticed the disappointment mingled with fear flicker across her face. She shrugged, trying to play it cool, and it _killed_ him.

"All right," she said. "You'll be back tomorrow."

He couldn't just leave her like this. "Hey, if you want me to stay, I'm sure I c—"

"You can go, Damon. I'll be fine."

But he knew her too well. _Stop trying to be brave and let me help you._ Of course, there was no way Mathieu would let him stay overnight—but that didn't mean that Baird couldn't at least attempt to reassure her.

"Here." He pulled his goggles off his forehead and looped them around Sam's neck. "You know I always come back for these," he said with a half-smile. "And then you'll know this wasn't a dream."

Sam nodded quickly, her eyes shining with tears she refused to shed. "Can I get one more thing before you go?"

"Anything."

"You were saving me a kiss," she said, her voice breaking on the last word.

He could not even begin to consider restraining himself. "I was." He leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, breathing hard through his nose. She made a small noise—almost a whimper—when his hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. It was familiar and _right_ and even though Sam wasn't biting at his lips like she normally did, it was _perfect._

When he pulled back, he saw that her hands were clutching his goggles. "I'll be here first thing in the morning," he promised.

"I know," she whispered, trying to smile but not quite managing.

"Get some sleep." He kissed her forehead, because he _could_, because she was here. She was finally back.


	16. Beside You

**[Author's Note] **Fun facts: the title of this chapter comes from the Marianas Trench song "Beside You", the music video for which was filmed in the building where I graduated from university.

But it was written while listening to "Long Way To Go" by (my friends!) Adam Ayer and Friends.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Beside You**

Just like he had promised, Baird was the first person to arrive at Cymbaria the next morning. Mathieu met him outside Sam's room, explained that she'd had a pretty good night—all things considered—and then asked if Baird could stop by his office later in the day. Baird nodded, mostly just to get out of the conversation, but he did intend to pay the doctor a visit at some point in the near future.

This time, Sam was awake and waiting for him. When he took his seat in the chair, he noticed that she wasn't wearing his goggles around her neck; instead, they were sitting on her lap.

"Here." She held the goggles out to him.

He shook his head, pushing her hands back towards her body. "Did they help?"

"Yes…"

"Keep them. How'd you sleep?"

Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second before shrugging. "Okay."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can tell when you're lying. And you don't have to lie to me."

"Fine." Her shoulders slumped. "I… woke up, a couple times. Didn't know where I was for a bit, but then I…" Her hands tightened around his goggles. "These helped me remember… that I hadn't made it all up."

"I had a hard time believing it was real, too."

Sam dropped her gaze to her hands, and Baird was suddenly struck by how small she seemed. It wasn't just the weight and muscle loss; it was the way she carried herself, like she was trying to make herself appear as diminutive and unassuming as possible. Like she still didn't feel completely safe, even here.

Her body language made it obvious that she wasn't looking to be held like last night. Still, she'd been deprived of physical contact for so long that he didn't think a little handholding would be too much for her to handle at the moment. He placed his hand on the bed only a few inches away from hers, clearly spelling out his intentions. Her eyes flicked down, and a few seconds later she moved her hand just a fraction closer to his. He took her hand in his, gently, slowly, revelling in her touch; he hadn't been exaggerating when he told her that he'd had a hard time convincing himself that this was reality.

He'd barely been with her ten minutes before there was a knock at the door. Before Baird could respond, Cole had poked his head in.

"Sorry, baby, but Marcus wants a word." Cole grimaced sympathetically. "I'll stay with her."

Baird was tempted to protest, but he caught the meaningful look on Cole's face. _Ah. McLintock doesn't wait around._ Unfortunately, Sam didn't miss what was going on. She turned to Baird, waiting for an explanation.

"I'll fill you in after I take care of this," Baird said.

She nodded slowly, wary. "Promise?"

"Promise." Funnily enough, he was in the habit of keeping those now.

In the hall, Marcus was dressed in his civilian uniform; that all but confirmed that they were going to meet the major. Baird was wearing sweatpants and an old hoody, which would probably just piss McLintock off even more. _Good_, was his first thought, before realising that it would be better if the major didn't hate his guts.

"McLintock?" Baird asked.

Marcus's frown lines deepened. "I held him off as long as I could."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Baird had had all yesterday afternoon with Sam; that would be enough to get him through whatever McLintock had in store for him.

"Hoffman and Bernie arrived this morning. They want to talk to you too."

So the colonel was here? Baird felt his spirits lift slightly. Maybe he wasn't completely screwed after all.

They made it all the way to the elevator in Pinnacle Tower before Baird finally had the balls to ask, "Did you tell Hoffman?" _Did you tell Bernie?_

Marcus kept his eyes forward. "About what?"

"About… you know…" He could still recall Marcus's face, cold and furious, as he shouted back at Baird: _"She needs you, and you're not running to her side. You're standing here, yelling at me for refusing to let you torture someone."_

"No," Marcus said. "Hoffman asked what happened to Samson, and I told the truth: I killed him."

Baird's shoulders relaxed. He didn't think he could bear Bernie's disappointed expression if she found out what he'd wanted to do. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the penthouse level. McLintock's office was at the end of the hall; Hoffman and Bernie were standing outside.

Bernie's face lit up when she saw them. "There's my boy."

A strange mixture of embarrassment and pride made Baird flush as he realised she was talking about him, not Marcus. Maybe it was just because Baird had been the one with the kidnapped and tortured girlfriend, but it made him feel good—weird but good—all the same.

"If we keep McLintock waiting much longer, he's going to have a stroke," Hoffman said.

"Don't get my hopes up," Baird muttered. Both Hoffman and Marcus snorted quietly. "Okay, let's just get this over with."

Bernie reached out to squeeze Baird's shoulder as he walked by her. He started, then smiled. _Still getting used to this whole people-caring-about-me-thing._

McLintock was sitting behind his stupid fucking desk. He stood when he saw Hoffman, but his expression turned to rage when he caught sight of Baird and Marcus. "_You two_," the major snarled, "are in so much—"

"Why don't we let the Chief of Defence decide the appropriate punishment, Harlow?" Hoffman clasped his hands behind his back.

McLintock spluttered, annoyed that he'd been interrupted but unable to talk back to his boss. Baird pursed his lips together to stop himself smirking. "Of course, sir. Please, accept my apol—"

"Sergeant Major Fenix." Hoffman turned to Marcus. "Would you care to offer an explanation as to why you were absent without official leave?"

Marcus opened his mouth, no doubt to confess to having masterminded the whole operation himself, and so Baird cut in. "It was all me, sir. I convinced them to come. I lied to them. I said that—"

"No, that's not—" Marcus began talking over Baird.

_No, I am _not _letting you take the fall for this one, asshole. _"Don't listen to Fenix, this was my—"

"Enough!" Hoffman sounded exasperated, but if Baird wasn't mistaken, he thought he could see a smirk tugging at the corner of the colonel's mouth. "I see you two haven't agreed on a story yet."

McLintock leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. "With Fenix's record and Baird's history of insubordination, do we really need to—?"

"When I want your opinion, I will ask for it, Harlow!" Hoffman barked. "Now, Fenix, since that incident during the Battle of Ephyra, you've shown no more tendencies towards disobedience. Baird, you were exonerated by Ezra Loomis for Kilo Squad's actions at Halvo Bay. And to tell you the truth, Harlow, I would have authorised this rescue mission anyway."

The major straightened up, affronted. "But Colonel, you can't—"

"I have no intention of letting this go unpunished, however. Baird, I'm stripping you of your access to Pinnacle Tower and its facilities. Once Corporal Byrne is fit to travel, you will be transferred back to Anvil Gate."

Baird tried his best to look chastised, even though he could clearly see what Hoffman was doing. It was a penalty on the outside, sure; he wouldn't be able to go anywhere near the fancy labs or the garage he'd set up in the immediate aftermath of the Locust assault on Azura. However, Hoffman was essentially ensuring that Baird and McLintock would never see each other again for the duration of Baird's stay, and that Baird could spend as much time with Sam as he wanted.

"As for you, Fenix, this is an official reprimand. You'll be on probation for three months."

Another meaningless gesture, but McLintock nodded in approval.

"Now," Hoffman said, "I'd like to check in on Corporal Byrne."

Baird radioed Cole to let him know they were coming. Marcus broke off from the group at some point, probably to find Anya. Baird didn't even notice him leave; he glanced over his shoulder as they walked through the Solarium and was surprised to see that Marcus had disappeared.

Hoffman's pace slowly began to increase as they neared the hospital. Baird and Bernie fell slightly behind, and Baird felt a strange mixture of jealousy and pride well up inside of him at the thought that Sam could elicit such a reaction in others.

Cole was just coming out of Sam's room when they arrived. He made some excuses about having to head over to thrashball practice, which Baird pretended to buy; he knew as well as Hoffman and Bernie did that Cole would blow off absolutely anything to be with a friend in need.

When Cole was gone, Hoffman turned to Baird. "I wanted to congratulate you, on taking initiative and on a job well done. You have my sincerest thanks."

"With all due respect, Colonel," Baird said, "I didn't do it for you."

And then Hoffman did something so unexpected that Baird's brain crapped itself: the colonel pulled him in for a stiff, fierce hug. It was over so quickly that Baird barely had time to process what was happening before Hoffman had turned on his heel and pushed open the door to Sam's room. Baird's body was rigid, a half-formed expression of shock frozen on his face. He wasn't entirely certain that he hadn't just had a seizure and hallucinated the whole thing.

Behind him, Bernie chuckled. "I think that took Vic by surprise too."

"So that was real," Baird wheezed.

"I know Vic's got a soft spot for all of Delta, but he's especially fond of Sam. Having served with her dad during the siege and all." Bernie's face turned serious. "You know that if you'd radioed us, Vic would have given you the go-ahead for a rescue mission, right?"

"Yeah, I know that. I just…" He sighed. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

Bernie gave him a gentle smile. "That doesn't sound very much like you."

"Sam's been having that effect on me." He laughed weakly. "I was at the end of my frigging rope. I really thought—" Indignity of indignities, his voice cracked.

"Come here," Bernie said, and before he could stop her, she was wrapping her arms around him in a very motherly hug.

Baird had to resist the impulse to shake his head. What was _with_ people today? He was not a huggy guy; he tried his best to exude a standoffish demeanour that would keep touchy-feely people away. Evidently it wasn't working today, and at this point he couldn't muster the strength to care. He let himself relax in Bernie's arms, to even go so far as to lean into the embrace slightly.

"You've gone senile in your old age, Granny," he mumbled.

"There's my Blondie." She released him and smacked the back of his head lightly. "Respect your elders, sonny."

Hoffman emerged a few minutes later, and Baird was horrified to see that the colonel's eyes looked wet. Thankfully, no one acknowledged the painfully awkward hug; Hoffman was back in Chief of Defence Staff Mode.

"We'll be returning to Anvil Gate tonight," Hoffman said to Baird, his voice only slightly gruffer than usual. "You're welcome home whenever she's ready."

Home. Yeah… that sounded good.

After Bernie and Hoffman had said their goodbyes, Baird slipped back into Sam's room. She was watching the door and visibly settled down as the door closed behind him. He felt better too, being back with her; he didn't know how he would ever be able to go another day without seeing her again.

"Cole told me what you did," Sam said when he'd sat down again. "How McLintock said no, but you came anyway."

_Damn him. _Still, it wasn't breaking a promise if someone had beaten him to an explanation. "Well, I guess I don't need to fill you in after all."

"How much trouble are you in? Is he going to c-cour-court—" She stumbled over the words and when Baird looked up he saw that her chin was trembling.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Sam, hey, I'm okay. Hoffman gave me a dressing down but it was hollow, it didn't mean anything, nothing's going to happen, okay?"

She nodded, blinking furiously to hold back the tears. "Yes. Yeah, sorry. I just…"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Thanks. That… that means a lot."

"I love you."

Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. "I love you, too."

* * *

This is what happened.

* * *

Sam asked to see Gosse.

Baird did his best to hide his disgust at the request. He got it, he really did: Gosse had been the only person Sam could trust not to hurt her, and the two had conspired together to free her. But that didn't erase the revulsion Baird felt whenever he saw the kid. He couldn't just forget what had happened—and how pivotal a role Gosse had played in Sam's abduction, even if he'd had a change of heart eventually.

He supposed he should feel indebted to Gosse; he had, after all, brought Austen's notes back to Azura and ensured that their rescue mission went off without a hitch. Yet every time Baird saw Gosse, he felt his hands twitch at his sides, itching to choke the life out of the kid. It was because he'd been denied the gratification of putting the kid's father down himself—or that was the lie that made Baird feel a little better, at least.

So Sam went to see Gosse. Major McLintock refused to allow Gosse out of the holding cells, and that hadn't been a point Hoffman had cared to argue. The mad scientist's son was an acceptable lost asset in exchange for Baird and Marcus's freedom. And, funnily enough, Baird didn't feel the need to speak out in favour of releasing the kid.

Baird stayed outside while Sam and Gosse had their heart-to-heart through prison bars. He found a sick sort of satisfaction in the fact this time Gosse was the one in the cage, but he didn't think Sam would appreciate that. So he chose to keep himself out of their reunion, content that he could still hear Sam's muffled voice from beyond the closed door.

McLintock's guard kicked Sam about after thirty minutes (twenty-nine too long for Baird's liking, not that he would say anything). Baird's heart leapt into his throat when he saw her; she looked pale and tired even though she hadn't been standing for very long.

"You okay?" he asked, taking a step towards her.

In response, Sam reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to support herself. She sighed, frustrated. "Just a little light-headed. Rehab's going to be a bitch."

If he hadn't spent years perfecting his self-control, Baird would have scooped her up in his arms right then and there. "You need to take a breather?"

"No, just… go slow."

"Can do." He brought his arm around her waist and started stepping carefully towards the elevator. "So how'd it go?"

Sam cocked her head slightly, as if she was surprised that he'd asked. "Good. Apparently Cole and Anya have been making waves, trying to get him pardoned. I asked him if he wanted to stay with the COG."

Baird clenched his jaw but kept silent.

"He said he didn't want to stay," Sam continued. "Thought it might be… awkward. Anya was talking about trying to resettle him with a Stranded group near Port Farrall."

_Port Farrall? Nice and far from Anvegad. I'd be okay with that._

"All depends on what McLintock says, of course."

Perhaps it was time for Baird to start voicing his opinion on Gosse's fate.

* * *

"She's making progress," Mathieu said. "Obviously I'm not at liberty to discuss details, but please be assured that I'm content with our current sessions."

Baird let out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. Great. She's been asking about going home."

"I'd like to keep her here for a little while yet. There are very few resources available at Anvil Gate as of yet, but Colonel Hoffman and I have been talking about that."

"Okay, fine. Is she going to be in the hospital much longer?"

"A few days longer. I'm confident that she can start physical rehabilitation by the end of the week."

"Thanks, doc."

* * *

The day before Sam was scheduled to be discharged, Baird raided Azura's library again.

He hadn't been in there since he'd gone digging for books on codes and ciphers, and honestly he'd been content to never set foot in that large, dusty room again, despite the insane amount of knowledge packed into the shelves. But he could see that Sam was getting antsy as her discharge date crept closer and closer—he didn't know if it was out of a desire to get out of the infirmary or if she was nervous—and he remembered how much she enjoyed reading her shitty paperbacks during her downtime at home.

And even though Baird had ridiculed Sam for her reading choices and declared on numerous occasions that he would never be caught dead with any of her books, he knew their titles, knew that she'd been reading a series, knew that she'd always been mildly disappointed that she'd never found a copy of the last book before she'd been shipped to Ephyra for basic training.

Azura's library had a fiction section because of course it did. _I guess the boffins needed something to do when they were taking a break from finding a cure for lambency_, Baird thought bitterly. But this had worked out in his favour, so he tried not to let himself get too annoyed.

He was a little surprised to find Sam's book series, but pleased as he imagined the smile on her face. Grabbing the first novel, he flipped it open to the first page where the chronology was laid out. _Benighted_ was the last book in the series, and Baird would be lying if he said that he wasn't a little intrigued by the title. It wasn't a word he heard often in conversation. _Benighted,_ he thought, _a state of pitiful moral or intellectual ignorance usually brought on by lack of opportunity. _

Pausing, he recalled the second definition: _overtaken by darkness._

He tried not to think too hard about that as he left the library.

Sam was staring out the open window when Baird came into her room. She didn't hear him enter, and he indulged himself for a moment, watching the breeze blow her hair out of her face. Then he coughed lightly to announce himself. Sam turned towards him; she didn't quite smile, but some of the lines on her face softened.

"Here," he said, and tossed her the book. "For later, when you're deprived of my amazing company."

She glanced down at the paperback and then did a double take. "How—?" she started, her eyes flicking up to his face in disbelief. "How the bloody hell did you—?"

"I just figured you could use something to keep you entertained when I'm not around."

"You know, I would have pegged you as being shit at this."

Baird felt a pang in his chest, another confirmation of how completely unprepared—wait. _"I would have," she said. _ She was making a joke, telling him that he was doing okay. _Oh._

"I _am _shit at this," he said, watching her face carefully. "I have no frigging clue what I'm doing. Can't you tell?"

She shook her head and then—oh god, _and then_—she smiled. "No. But you've always been good at bullshitting."

"It's a talent," he agreed, flashing a cocksure grin, and he could swear that she almost, _almost_ laughed.

* * *

Mathieu looked very serious as Baird sat down across from him. "She's started having night terrors," the doctor said.

"Well that's nothing new. She's had nightmares most of her career." Baird knew from firsthand experience and from Sam's explanations.

"_Night terror_ isn't simply a synonym for _nightmare_; they're completely different things. Nightmares occur during REM sleep, while night terrors happen during deep non-REM sleep. During a night terror, you can't wake the person up and the body believes it is actually awake."

Baird's stomach lurched as the words left Mathieu's mouth. "What can I do?"

"Nothing much, I'm afraid. There's some medication I can prescribe if this persists, but I'm afraid it might just be something she has to live with."

* * *

Sam was quiet as they left the Cymbaria Centre. Baird had brought her a change of clothes from her bag so she wouldn't have to trek back to their hotel room in the white cotton housecoat and slippers from the hospital. He had thought she might feel better being back in her own clothes, but her stiff gait and the way the outfit hung limply off her frail body had him rethinking his bright idea.

Cole, Anya and Carmine had promised to meet up with them in the cafeteria later for dinner, which seemed to have cheered Sam up a bit. Baird, on the other hand, had been content to be completely selfish and spend the day with her alone. On some level, he recognised that that desire was incredibly egocentric and wasn't in Sam's best interests _at all_—as Cole had said, he wasn't the only one who loved Sam—but having another level that wasn't just biting sarcasm was still new to him.

Once Baird saw Sam's dull eyes do a sweep of the hotel room, he decided that maybe they were better off going for a walk instead.

He took her down to the beach—as far away from Route Charlie as possible. They walked arm-in-arm a few metres away from the water. Sam was withdrawn and silent beside him, and so Baird filled the void with his words: babbling, complaining, bitching, _talking_, about anything and everything that came to his mind.

He was just beginning to moan about the brand of motor oil they used on Azura when Sam suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"You were taken prisoner by the Locust," she said without looking at him.

"Yeah…?"

"How did you stand it?"

He knew what she was fishing for, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that his ordeal even _remotely_ compared to hers. "It wasn't that bad," he said. "I was only there for a couple hours before Delta showed up and busted me out."

"But you didn't know that at the time. You didn't know how long you'd be there."

"Okay, fine, valid point. It's not like I had a countdown for when they'd find me, but I knew they _would_ find me. No way Cole would leave me behind."

Sam nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer. "Right. Yeah." And then, quietly, "That's how I felt."

It broke his heart that she could have so much faith in him after he'd failed her.

After dinner—and a conversation where Sam smiled exactly once when Cole referenced Baird's weak bowels—they ended up back in their hotel room. Sam pulled on her pyjamas and crawled into bed before Baird had even taken his pants off. He slipped under the covers next to her, leaving a careful distance between them.

The first night Baird barely slept, waiting for it to happen. But it didn't.

The second night passed by, eventless, and Baird allowed himself to relax a bit.

On the third night without incident, Baird foolishly thought that it was his presence in the bed that kept her sleep terrors away.

It didn't happen on the fourth night either.

But it did happen eventually.

It took Baird a few bleary blinks to figure out why he'd woken up in the middle of the night. He'd been sleeping soundly, dreamlessly, and he didn't have to use the john, so he couldn't imagine why his body had decided he needed to be awake now.

Then he heard it: a soft, quiet, choking sound. He rolled over to face the direction of the noise and instead of seeing Sam's sleeping form, he found he was alone in the bed.

His heart stuttered before kicking into overdrive.

_Fuck—shit—what the—Sam—_

He pushed himself up and groped for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. The dim orange glow illuminated the room enough that he could see everywhere Sam wasn't.

_Oh god it's happening again—shit fuck—where—_

And then he noticed that the closet door was open. That was where the sound seemed to be coming from.

Half a second later he was on his feet, walking briskly towards the closet. He gently slid the door open a little more and peered inside.

Sam was curled up at the back of the closet, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms covering her head, and she was _shaking_. The noise was coming from her: half-choked, barely suppressed sobs of terror.

Cold dread flooded into his heart. He dropped to the ground in front of her and reached out to touch her arm. "Sam, it's okay, it's just a—"

She _screamed_ and yanked her arm away from him. Her other hand came out of nowhere, smacking him across the jaw—not hard enough to hurt much, but the surprise still stung. Her eyes were wild with panic and he realised that she was looking _through_ him, not _at_ him. She didn't even see him. And her pupils were dilated.

_Night terror,_ the logical part of his brain reminded him. _Her body thinks she's awake. Don't touch her; you'll just frighten her more._

Still, all his instincts screamed at him to wrap his arms around her, shield her in a protective cocoon, because that's what she'd want if she were awake. But she wasn't awake, despite what her body thought; her brain was freaking out, seeing god only knew what, interpreting anything physical as a threat. He couldn't just sit there and watch her cry with horror, however.

_Think, dammit! What did Mathieu say?_

Calm, soothing words—that's what the doc had suggested. She probably wouldn't be able to hear him in her current state, but maybe on some level she'd register them and begin to settle down.

"Sam, you're on Azura. You're safe, I'm right here with you. Just listen to me."

His mouth ran on autopilot while he had a freak out on the inside. How was he supposed to help this time? He was a mechanic, he fixed things, but how could he ever hope to fix this? He'd been so intent on protecting Sam; how was he supposed to protect her from her own mind?

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Everything that happened to you… it's all my fault._

And then suddenly the sobbing stopped. Sam clutched her chest, sucking in big gulps of air as she looked around confusedly. Looked _at_ him. And god, what a difference it made to know that she saw him now. "Did…?" she gasped, trying to catch her breath, "did I have another one?"

Baird nodded, leaning back and allowing himself to sit more comfortably on the floor. "Yeah. Don't worry, though—it only lasted about five minutes."

Sam opened her mouth to say something else but then her eyes zeroed in on his cheek. Baird swore internally, knowing what she was seeing; he could feel the warm sting where she'd hit him, and figured that a red mark was making itself visible.

"What happened?" Sam asked warily. Before he could answer, she inspected her hand, a look of horror on her face. "Oh god, I'm _sorry_. I didn't—"

"Don't apologise." _Please, god, never apologise for any of this._ "It was my own fault. Mathieu warned me not to touch you and I forgot. I'll remember next time."

"Next time…" She sighed and dropped her head. "Yeah. There'll always be a next time now, huh?"

He gave her a reassuring grin. "I've been handling your nightmares for a while, babe. This isn't anything different."

But it was. And they both knew it.

* * *

"Sergeant, I really think you should start attending some of my sessions."

"What, with Sam?"

Mathieu shook his head. "No, I mean I would like to start seeing _you_."

"Me?" Baird scoffed. "Thanks, doc, but I'm good."

"That's a common theme amongst Gears. Do you truly think that anyone can survive fifteen years of war unscathed?"

"I don't need help. Keep your focus on Sam."

"It's not an either-or situation, Sergeant."

"I'm good."

* * *

Surprising absolutely no one, Cole's team made it to the thrashball tournament final.

Baird was happy for his friend—happy that Cole had somewhere to go, something to do, something he excelled at—but he didn't give a damn about a friendly tournament. However, Sam seemed to perk up that morning at breakfast when Cole asked if she was going to come out and watch the game. She didn't even glance at Baird before responding that, yes; they'd definitely be there.

Good. He was glad she had something to get excited about.

An hour before the finals were set to start, they were both lounging in the hotel room. Then there was a knock at the door. Sam got up to answer it while Baird straightened up a little more on the bed. The door had barely opened before Jace and Carmine were barging into the room, all smiles.

Baird was almost on his feet when he saw Sam start at the unexpected intrusion, but she recovered quickly enough and smiled. Still, Baird was unimpressed; he'd have to have a word with the pair of them later.

"Hey Sam, you ready to go?" Jace asked.

"Go?" She almost looked bemused. "I didn't think it started until—"

"Forget that," Carmine butted in. "You can watch the warm-up and get the good seats. Whaddaya say?"

Sam cast a glance over her shoulder to catch Baird's eye. Was she looking for his approval? He smiled at her gently. _Yeah, go. You don't need my permission._ But his stomach still clenched at the thought of her walking out of the room without him.

Jace and Carmine weren't paying attention, however—they already had their arms around her shoulders and were steering her out the door. When they had gone, Baird let out a sigh. He hadn't planned on leaving until just before the game started, but he didn't particularly enjoy the prospect of sitting alone in the hotel room. And he didn't want to intrude on Sam's time with her friends.

A sudden impulse struck him. He needed help with this whole situation; that much was painfully obvious despite Sam's insistences to the contrary. Only fools refused to educate themselves and Damon Baird was no fool. He sought knowledge, and he had a pretty good idea who to go see.

Still, ten minutes later he couldn't believe he was knocking on Anya and Marcus's door. Before he had time to panic and run like he was a stupid kid playing ding dong ditch, Anya was staring him in the face.

"Hey," Baird said sheepishly. "Is Marcus here?"

"No, he's already at the field. I was just about to head over; did you want to walk with me?"

"No, ah…" Shit, this was awkward. He'd wanted to catch Anya alone, that was true, but now he was suddenly uncomfortable. "I wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Oh." Anya blinked a couple times—a habit she'd picked up from Marcus, Baird noted—before she recovered. "Sure, come in."

She stepped aside, making way for Baird. He walked into the room slowly, feeling strangely awkward. It was like he was entering some private part of Marcus's life to which he had never been privy before. That was the bed where Marcus slept, the desk where he did his paperwork, the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and took a shower and went to the john. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Marcus Fenix was just a normal human being.

"Where's Sam?" Anya asked, and Baird couldn't blame her for being curious. These days, he barely went anywhere without Sam.

"Jace and Carmine dragged her out earlier to watch the warm-up. I said I'd catch up later." Baird figured it would be good for Sam to spend time with people other than him; like Cole had said, there were plenty of people who cared about her.

"So," Anya said, closing the door behind Baird, "what did you want to talk about?"

He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word it. "I need your insight. Or help, or advice, or whatever. Because I don't know how—" He cut himself off; he was getting perilously close to blithering again. That was always dangerous with him.

"My insight? On what?"

"How do you do it? With Marcus, I mean." Colour flooded Baird's face as he realised how that sounded. He quickly continued, "Because with Sam, I have no frigging clue what I'm doing. I know I'm supposed to support her but I don't know what that looks like practically and I'm terrified that I'm somehow going to make it worse."

Anya looked at him with thinly veiled amusement. "You're not going to make it worse."

"Really? Because of all people, _I_ could probably find a way."

"Baird, you've been doing an amazing job of supporting her. She knows that, we talk about it."

"Then why won't she talk to me?"

"She's like Marcus—she doesn't want to bleed on the people closest to her."

Baird sighed. "She could drown me in blood and I wouldn't care. I've almost _literally_ drowned in blood before." He thought back to cutting his way out of a giant worm with his Lancer and shuddered. "I could deal."

Laughing softly, Anya leaned back against the wall. "How very… romantic."

"Seriously, Anya. I need all the help I can get."

"I just let him know that I'm there for him. I'm always ready to listen if he wants to talk. And I also let him know that I don't have any expectations for his recovery. It's a day-by-day thing. There are good days—_months_—and then he'll have a bad day. And that's perfectly okay. I'm not disappointed if he has a setback, because that's a natural part of the healing process." Anya smiled to herself. "And I still have my own bad days. He's there for me, too."

Baird knew what she was talking about; he'd seen the headlines in his father's newspapers. He knew that Helena Stroud had died during the Battle of Aspho Fields, sacrificing herself to take out an Asp. He also knew that Anya had been the CIC operator for her mother's company—and the one to confirm Major Stroud's death. Even though Baird had never been overly fond of his own mother, he couldn't imagine ever getting over something like that if he had been in Anya's situation.

"You don't have to be perfect, Baird—just be present."

_Present. That's not hard. I never want to let her out of my sight again._

"Right, I… okay. Thanks, Anya."

"I'm not just friends with Sam, you know."

Baird couldn't stop himself from blinking in surprise—an annoying habit he'd picked up from Marcus. It was still strange for him to have more friends than just Cole.

Anya sensed his discomfort and chuckled. "Come on. Walk a friend down to the playing field."

When they made it to the stands, Baird saw Sam and Marcus sitting close to the front. The pair seemed deep in conversation, but Marcus stopped when he caught sight of Baird and Anya watching him. They way Marcus's face changed as he took Anya in—the lines softened, his jaw loosened—had Baird desperately wanting to wrap his arms around Sam and bury his face into her shoulder.

After a few minutes of small talk, the stands had filled up and players were coming out onto the field. Baird shuffled as close to Sam as he could on the bleachers, his hand next to her leg an open invitation. She took it without even looking, as if it was just instinctual.

Cole's team didn't walk away with the victory, but they did win. It was a good game. There was an amazing touchdown that had most of the spectators on their feet, cheering and whooping. The whole event felt like something out of the past, and Baird viewed it through a strange kind of filter. In another life, he could have taken Sam out on a date to watch his celebrity best friend play thrashball.

But, in another life—one without the Locust and the Lambent—he never would have met Cole or Sam.

In another life, Sam wouldn't have been abducted and tortured because Baird loved her.

Following the game, their friends hung around to congratulate Cole. He was in full showboating mode, Number 83, The Cole Train, but Baird could tell it was mostly for everyone else's benefit.

"Damn, Cole!" Jace said. "How the hell do you keep running around like that?"

"Cole Train runs on whole grain, baby! Whoo!"

Grinning, Baird turned around to find Sam. She was standing a few feet away from the group, her arms wrapped around her body. Instantly Baird could tell something was wrong.

He subtly slipped away and went to stand beside her. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head slightly. Her lips were pressed together, there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and Baird could hear that she was hyperventilating. She was having a panic attack.

_Shit. Okay, stay calm. I'm not going to help her if I start freaking out too._

For a split second, Baird had no idea what he was supposed to do and considered waving Anya over. But then he was suddenly reminded of an episode in his past, only a few days after his first deployment to fight the Locust. He remembered a young recruit—sixteen, had voluntarily enlisted—having a breakdown in the barracks. Seeing the grubs for the first time had shaken everyone, but while people could sympathise, no one had any idea how to help this poor kid.

And then she was beside him—Sofia. Baird had noticed her earlier in the day; her red hair made her stand out. She crouched beside the boy and spoke to him in a reassuring but firm manner, asking simple questions about how she could help him. Eventually she'd gotten him to stand up and taken him to the infirmary. Baird had remembered the incident when he'd been assigned to Kilo Squad with her, Cole and Paduk.

Baird positioned himself so that he was blocking Sam from the others' view; she didn't need a crowd of well-meaning people rushing at her to see if she was okay.

"You're having an anxiety attack," he said, speaking slowly. "Do you know what set it off?"

She shook her head again. Even though she didn't know what had triggered her, Baird decided it was better to get her out of here.

"Do you want to go back to the hotel room?" he asked.

Sam nodded quickly.

"Okay, I'll take you there." His first impulse was to reach out but he stopped himself. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Sam's eyes flicked up to his face. She seemed to consider for a moment, and then whispered, "Yes."

"You're positive? You can say no." He knew that in her current state, her body might very well interpret any kind of physical contact as a threat. The last thing he wanted to do was make this worse.

"No, I'm sure," she answered, still quiet. She was starting to tremble.

"Okay."

Baird wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders and steered her away. He'd spent enough time dodging people while he was working on Austen's research that he knew all the best routes to get back to the Acanthus without running in to anyone. Most people would still be hanging around the playing field, but it would be better if they weren't delayed.

By the time they made it back to their hotel room, Sam's breathing was so erratic that Baird was afraid she was going to pass out. He directed her over to the bed and got her to sit down. Baird kneeled on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on her knees.

"Babe, look at me." She did. "Keep your eyes on me. We're going to breathe together, all right?"

She nodded, slowly unwrapping her arms from around her body. Her hands came to rest on her thighs, her fingers touching the tips of Baird's.

"Okay. In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me now. In, two, three, and out, two, three."

Her shoulders rose and fell in unison with his. She held his gaze; though her eyes were wide with fear, he could see that she trusted him to get her through this. He wouldn't let her down this time. He continued counting with her for several minutes until her shaking began to subside. Eventually she stopped breathing with him, just letting it come naturally. There still wasn't quite enough time between her inhales and exhales for Baird's liking, but at least she wasn't in danger of fainting.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Yeah. And tired."

"I don't blame you." Her body had been keyed up for a fight, adrenaline flooding through her for close to twenty minutes. That kind of strain had to be exhausting. "Do you want to sleep for a bit?"

"Yeah." She stifled a yawn. "Will you stay with me?"

"Of course." _You never even have to ask._

They both kicked off their shoes and Sam crawled under the covers. Baird slipped in next to her, unsure of how much space he should keep between them. Did she want to be close or did she need some distance? Either was fine with him; just being in this bed together was more than enough. He just didn't want to alarm her.

Sam saved him having to ask by pressing her body right up against his. She kept her arms tucked close, pinned between their chests. Baird slid one arm under her, not even caring that her weight would probably cut off his circulation. With his other arm, he pulled her close, and she nestled up against him, her head fitting perfectly under his chin.

"Wake me for supper," she mumbled, sounding already half-asleep.

"Sure thing."

He closed his eyes but he wasn't planning on sleeping. He listened to her breathing, and he didn't relax until he was sure she was out.

* * *

"I've been talking to Colonel Hoffman, and I believe we've come up with a solution that will allow you and Corporal Byrne to return to Anvil Gate."

Relief flooded through Baird. "That's fantastic. What is it?"

Mathieu flipped open the folder in front of him. "I'll be dividing my time evenly between Azura, Anvil Gate and Port Farrall. We've neglected the mental health of our Gears for far too long, and it's unfair to expect them to seek help when help is located on an island in the middle of the ocean. If I travel to the garrisons, I can do group and individual sessions—better to meet everyone's needs."

"I can't imagine McLintock's too thrilled that he's losing his prize surgeon."

"The colonel was the driving force behind this plan, so I doubt any of McLintock's objections would stop this. Besides, Dr. Espinosa is more than capable to take over as Chief of Medicine."

"So, what, we can go back to Anvil Gate any time?"

"Any time."

* * *

After a great deal arguing, pleading, yelling and getting yelled at, Baird, Cole and Anya finally convinced Major McLintock that Gosse Samson didn't know anything that would make him a useful prisoner. He wasn't familiar with lab equipment, with biology or chemistry, didn't know anything about the scientific method. Hoffman finally intervened when it got so bad that McLintock threatened to court-martial them all over again.

"_What are you planning on doing, Harlow?"_ Hoffman asked over the radio. _"Are you going to keep him locked up forever? He doesn't know anything. Let Captain Stroud resettle him with Bea Dukes's Stranded colony."_

Even though Hoffman had never wanted to be the leader of the COG, when he said something, the majors fell in line.

So that was how Baird ended up on a Raven with Sam, Cole, Anya and Gosse, heading for the mainland. Anya and Marcus had been diligent about maintaining good relations with the local Stranded groups on the coast; the one they were headed to now was run by a woman called Bea Dukes. According to Anya, Duke was pretty reasonable.

_Reasonable for Stranded_, Baird thought.

Dukes knew they were coming. She didn't know where they were coming from—she'd given up asking a long time ago, probably figured that it would come out eventually. A secret island couldn't stay hidden for long.

The Raven descended slowly into a clearing. The crew bay was open, and Baird could see a handful of people waiting near the LZ. If not for Sam, Baird never would have come on this trip; he hated Stranded and he hated Gosse. Now he was in close proximity to both of them without being allowed to punch anybody.

He didn't get out of the Raven with the others. He was only here to watch, to keep his eyes on Sam; he didn't give a rat's ass about resettling Gosse. But he did want the kid out of his hair—as far away as possible.

Anya and Cole spoke with a woman whom Baird assumed to be Bea Dukes while Gosse hung timidly back, next to Sam. The two of them were talking to each other; Baird narrowed his eyes and watched. He couldn't wait for this to be over and done with.

Dukes beckoned for Gosse to come over. He wouldn't move until Sam smiled reassuringly at him. Anya facilitated the introductions while Baird resisted the urge to scream at them to hurry the fuck up.

Dukes held her hand out to Gosse. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out and shaking it. Turning to Sam, he said something—he didn't even get to finish before Sam had thrown her arms around him in a hug.

Baird clenched his jaw briefly. _Come on, just get it over with._ He wanted Sam back all to himself.

Finally—_finally_—Sam released Gosse. Dukes grasped the kid's shoulder and turned him towards her group. Sam stayed right where she was until Gosse and the Stranded had disappeared into the trees.

* * *

Sam didn't speak until they were back in their hotel room.

"Damon?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to go home now."

And so they did.


	17. Guide My Soul

**Chapter Sixteen: Guide My Soul**

**Anvil Gate, Kashkur.**

Sam squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as she waited for KR-239 to land.

_Almost there. Just a little longer._

Baird must have noticed her unease; a second later, his hand grasped hers and he squeezed gently. Today, she found it in her to squeeze back a silent _thank you_. Sandwiched between Baird and Cole (who was more than happy to end his temporary transfer and come back with them to Anvil Gate), Sam felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: safe.

She lurched forward when the Raven's wheels touched down on the landing pad. Slowly, she exhaled and opened her eyes; the crew bay doors were closed but it was almost like she could _feel_ the familiarity already. Mitchell got up and yanked the Raven's doors open; light flooded inside and Sam had to shield her eyes briefly. She blinked a few times as she adjusted to the blinding white glare.

When she had left Anvegad, there had been a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. While there was still a cold bite to the air, the snow was gone, given way to brown, dead grass. It was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

_Home._

She was aware of the glances Baird kept shooting her when he thought she wasn't looking. Worried, anxious—she'd seen those expressions on his face a lot lately. Not that she could blame him. He knew that he couldn't hope to understand what she'd gone through, the demons that were still haunting her… would probably always haunt her.

But this… being home… it would help. She could feel it already.

Gingerly, she hopped out of the Raven while Baird and Cole thanked Sorotki and Mitchell. There would be people wanting to see her—Hoffman and Bernie, Dizzy and his daughters, Drew, Pad Salton… And she did want to see them too. Eventually. Just, not immediately. Not after finally getting home.

She wanted to go back to her house, and her unspoken desire was not lost on either Baird or Cole; they quickly followed her out of KR-239. Cole offered her one of his enthusiastic grins before clapping Baird on the shoulder and heading off in the direction of the barracks.

Baird turned to her. "You ready?"

_Yes._ She just nodded in response. But she held her hand out to him. He stared at it for a moment, as if making sure she wasn't just stretching or something, and then interwove their fingers.

They made their way towards the town; it was slower than Baird's natural walking pace, but faster than Sam had walked in weeks. When she finally saw her house in the distance, she faltered for a moment, her breath catching in her throat.

_Not yet. Not yet, come on, you're almost there._

Baird's hand tightened around hers, but he kept his eyes forward.

A few painful minutes later, they were at the front porch. Baird headed up the old wooden steps in front of her, his key already out, ready to open the front door. Sam gingerly took a step forward, testing the solidity of the wood under her feet. It creaked, but didn't splinter or break. Real, then. Good.

There was a soft click as Baird unlocked the door. He pushed it open and walked inside, holding it open for her. She climbed the remaining two steps as fast as she could, forcing herself to keep calm. At the threshold, she paused for a moment. Baird watched her cautiously, ready to leap into action.

"Go on," she said, tilting her head to indicate that he should go inside.

He nodded slowly, and walked a few feet into the house, heading for the light switch. Sam finally took another step forward, glancing around the room. There was a fine layer of dust covering every surface. The house smelled stuffy; someone should really open a window.

The door closed behind her. And then the tears started.

Her legs began to tremble; she didn't trust herself to stay upright so she dropped to her knees. Teardrops splashed onto the dusty hardwood floor and she started to gasp.

_It's over. It's really over._

Baird whipped around; his face blanched the moment he saw her. He hurried to her side and crouched down.

"Babe, it's okay, it's all right, everything's fine, just listen to me."

She started shaking her head. _No, no, that's not it. _She wasn't crying because something was wrong; she was crying because everything was _right_. They'd made it home without incident. She was back in her house, its familiar smell lurking beneath the stale must. _Home._ All the emotions she'd been bottling up came spilling out. She could be weak because she was home.

Baird was still spewing panicked, well-meaning words. She took a few deep breaths until she could steady her voice. "Damon, I appreciate what you're trying to do—I really do—but please just shut up and let me cry."

That gave him pause. He regarded her for a few moments before finally saying, "Okay."

And so she cried. She cried because, for the first time, she felt like it was truly over. She'd come full circle; she'd made it back to Anvegad. Azura had felt like a strange kind of limbo, a place where she hadn't felt like she was in immediate danger, but also hadn't been comfortable enough—brave enough—to let her guard down and _feel_ everything. Now here, back in her home, she felt like she could finally begin to put it behind her.

Slowly, her crying petered out. She had no idea how long she'd been on the floor—how long Baird had been kneeling patiently in front of her—but her knees were beginning to ache. Wiping the tearstains from her cheeks, she sniffed a few times before letting out a slow breath.

"Right, there's that done then," she said, trying to crack a smile.

When she finally brought her eyes up to Baird's, she saw the heartbroken, terrified expression on his face. She almost laughed—how could he not see that these were _good_ tears?

"Are you—?" he started.

"I'm better. Let's go sit on the couch."

He nodded, getting to his feet and then offered her his hand. She let him pull her upright, and didn't let go of his hand as they moved to the couch. As Baird sat down, her heart rate picked up unexpectedly. It was silly to be nervous—Baird had surprised her over and over again with his tender, thoughtful reactions to everything—but she couldn't help it. This would be the first time she'd talked about what had happened. Verbalizing her experience somehow made it more real, not something she could dismiss as the memory of a bad dream.

She sat down next to him and leaned up against him. He reached out to place a hand on her leg. He didn't say anything, didn't prompt her. Just waited, placid.

"I don't really know where to start," she admitted.

"Hey, it's not speak now or forever hold your piece, y'know?" he said. "You can talk about it now, or next week, or next year, or never. And that's fine, okay? Just, whatever you need."

"I think I want to talk about it now."

"Okay."

And so she told him. With her back resting against his chest, watching his hand on his thigh, she told him everything. The ambush on the beach, waking up in the holding cell, her trips to the torture room and—perhaps worst of all—to Yeva. Waiting for rescue in the long hours she was left alone—never doubting, but wondering when, oh god _when_, it would happen. Her talks with Gosse and his eventual promise to help. And finally, Cole showing up and taking her out of the Hollow.

Through it all, as she listened to the words coming out of her mouth, like someone else was saying everything, she watched Baird's hand. From her position she couldn't see his face, and for that she was glad; she could only imagine the agony he must have gone through and she didn't think she could handle seeing it written all over his face. But his hand she could see. She watched as the muscles in his fingers tensed up, how at some points he balled his hand into a white-knuckled fist, how he spread his fingers wide after, as if that could somehow release the stress.

They'd gone through this together, she realised. Yes, her experience had been far more traumatic and would leave lasting scars, but Baird had been right there with her. Somehow—in spirit maybe—his longing and worry had stretched out over the vast ocean to meet her in that dark place of pain and terror. While she hadn't been able to talk to him until she woke up in the hospital on Azura, his presence, his memory, had comforted her, kept her sane. Every moment she had been thinking about him, he'd been thinking about her too.

Suddenly, she noticed that it was silent; apparently she'd stopped talking. She felt better, slightly, like the crushing weight had lifted off of her shoulders even just a little. Having it all out in the open somehow made it… better. More manageable, at least. She wasn't magically cured now, but this felt like a first step on a long road to recovery.

She twisted her body so she could look up at Baird. He was staring straight ahead, lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes shining.

"God, _Sam_…" he breathed, his voice ragged.

She didn't know what she could say in this situation, so instead she just tilted her head up so she could kiss his jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, exhaled a shuddering breath. "You know I would have given anything for that not to have happened to you, right?"

She blinked at him, confused. "Obviously. Where is this coming from?"

For a moment, Sam thought he might change the subject or play it off, but then it suddenly came bursting out. "I'm so sorry, I fucked it up, it was all my fault, I let you down, I'm sorry—" He was babbling now, the way he always did when he'd been holding something back for a while and finally, unable to stand it any longer, confessed.

"How exactly is this your fault?" she asked, cutting across his word vomit.

Snapping his mouth shut abruptly, Baird stared at his hands in his lap for a long moment, seemingly composing himself. Finally, he found his voice. "The only reason they took you was me. If I hadn't been selfish and got you transferred to Azura with me, none of that would have happened to you."

"Damon, look at me." She reached out and palmed his jaw, gently turning his face toward hers. "I do _not_ blame you, okay? I would have figured out a way to go to Azura anyway. And besides…" She'd debated not telling him this, leaving it out because it was creepy and unsettling and cast a dark shadow over their last year of happiness. But he needed to hear this, hear that it wasn't his fault. "They'd been here. I tried to deny being your girlfriend—I thought if they didn't think I knew anything then maybe—Anyway, they called me out. Showed me pictures of us together. Pictures taken at Anvil Gate."

She watched as his forehead creased and his eyes darkened, saw how he clenched his hands into fists. Yes, the scientists had been here and no one had known. She had been under surveillance for months, Baird for even longer. Once Austen's research had turned up, it had been inevitable.

"They would have grabbed me here," She continued, "and then you would be blaming yourself for not taking me with you. So if you think that I'm holding you responsible for what happened, you're a bloody blobhead."

Normally her Kashkuri colloquialisms earned her a laugh—or at least an affectionate eye roll—but Baird still looked stricken. Was he just upset thinking about how they'd been watched, or was it something else? Sam didn't have to wonder long.

"I still failed you," he said quietly. "I didn't save you; Cole did. I couldn't even crack the code on my own—Cole figured it out."

Her heart broke for him. "Oh, Damon…" Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled their bodies together in a tender embrace. She could feel the rise and fall of his shoulders, deliberate and measured, trying to maintain control. His breath hitched over something in his throat. "You didn't let me down. Do you honestly think I care that you didn't single-handedly storm the base and carry me out over your shoulder? Or that Cole helped you find the keyword? I know it was you. It was all you."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," he said, laughing, his voice thick. "I should be the one comforting _you_."

"You've been doing that for weeks," she shot back, smiling. "It's my turn now."

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, and Sam couldn't have been happier. Home, with Baird, feeling loved—Actually, there was one thing that would make this day even better.

She let her arms drop to her sides. "Come on, let's go to bed."

* * *

Baird followed Sam up the stairs to their bedroom, aware he was probably one step too close to her. He couldn't help it; any physical distance between them was almost too much for him to handle. And yet he also had to be careful of keeping a certain amount of space between them. It varied depending on the day; he had to read Sam's body language, gauge what she needed at any given time.

It was a daily exercise in self-control for him. He wanted to brush his fingers over every one of her new scars, hear its specific cause, and kiss away the associated hurts.

Maybe one day. When she was ready.

Sam walked into their bedroom and stopped a few feet in front of the bed, staring at it. Was she that tired already? The sun was only just beginning to go down, but travelling could be exhausting, especially—especially in Sam's condition.

"Do you want to talk for a bit?" Baird asked. "Or do you want to go straight to sleep?"

Sam shook her head, smirking. "For a genius, you can be bloody thick sometimes. I don't want to go to sleep, I want to—"

His stomach somersaulted. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh_. Now are we going to have a naughty or what?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, felt a flush creeping up his face. "It's not—I mean, I—you don't have to just because—"

Her cocksure grin faltered. "Do you—?" Her voice had lost the warmth and confidence from before; now she sounded timid, unsure—in the same way she had been in those early days in the hospital. "Do you not… want me anymore?"

His stomach twisted into a hundred different knots. "_What_? God, no, Sam I—"

"_Perhaps I took the wrong hostage. You must not care about Miss Byrne very much to leave her here for so long."_

Ira Samson's sardonic voice echoed in the sudden silence of the room. Was _that_ what this was about? Baird could all to clearly recall the damn doctor mocking how long it took him to find the keyword; had Samson been feeding the same lines to Sam, trying to break her spirit? Had she been interpreting Baird's respectful distance as a lack of desire?

_God, I'm such an idiot._

"Sam, listen to me. All you are is all I want, and you're all I want even more now."

She smiled weakly at him, but he could still see the trepidation in her eyes.

Baird sighed. "It's not that I don't want to because, believe me, I _do_. I just don't want you to jump into anything if you're not ready for—"

"I _am_ ready." Sam took a step closer to him and placed her hands on his arms. "Damon, please. I just want things to feel like they were before. Just for a little while."

"Are you—?"

"If you ask me if I'm sure, I will punch you in the face."

Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him lightly, close-lipped but determined. For a moment, his mouth was immovable as stone against hers. He had been profusely gentle with her for the past few weeks, his kisses clearly chaste—on her forehead, her hair, her hands—so she would never mistakenly assume that he wanted more than she was ready to give. He had been perfectly content to wait; just _being_ with her was more than enough. And now he was hesitating.

It had been one hell of an emotional day already. Full of confessions and secrets brought into the light. And he didn't want to push her too far, take too much, or for her to think that this was somehow setting a standard. He was still desperate to protect her—even if it meant protecting her from herself.

But then she swept her tongue along his mouth, careful and tender, and there was a noise in the back of her throat—an impatient, half-annoyed whine—and suddenly his better judgement deserted him. She _wanted_ this; who was he to refuse?

He opened his mouth to let her in, tongue gliding against hers, and when she moaned quietly it went straight to the weakest parts of him. Bringing his hands up to either side of her face, he finally allowed himself to get lost in the moment. No more worrying if this was right or too soon. All he cared about now was the taste of her, the feeling of her breath settling on his cheeks, the small hums she made as he kissed her deeper.

Suddenly her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and she was stumbling backwards, pulling him along, towards the bed. She tripped over something and they tumbled onto the mattress, but she didn't break the kiss and neither did he, save for the grunt he made when he landed on top of her. Then her knee came up to his waist and she was rolling her hips against his; her fingers tightened in his hair and he knew exactly what she wanted.

He disengaged himself from her lips, laughing when she tried to move forward to capture his mouth again. "You need to stop kissing me if we're going to get anywhere."

Frowning, she bit down on her lower lip, considering. Then she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and yanked it over her head. He couldn't help but chuckle at her urgency, and figured she'd appreciate some help getting undressed faster. Hooking his fingers under her waistband, he fought her pants and underwear down her legs.

And then she was naked in front of him. Her, just her, flat on her back, legs dangling over the side of the bed—he never wanted to look away.

"You are so beautiful," he said.

She blushed and beamed up at him. "You're not so bad yourself."

However, he wasn't content to simply look and not touch.

He had to suppress a shudder as he leaned forward to stroke her arm. He could spend hours like this, running careful fingers along her body, getting re-acquainted with every precious inch of her—the graceful swell of her breasts, the smooth, sensitive skin along her sides, the dark lines of her tattoo. As his thumbs gently skimmed over her obliques, she bucked her hips longingly, her hands grasping his wrists and manoeuvring his fingers between her legs.

"Don't rush me," he said, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

She huffed and rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. Trying to act frustrated, but the mindless motion of her hips gave her away. She was desperate, begging for his touch, and as much as he wanted to take it slow and savour every second, he couldn't completely deny her.

His thumb slowly circled her clit—gentle, sweeping motions—and she closed her eyes and let her head fall back to rest on the mattress. He couldn't stop himself from looking at her, absorbing every inch of her with his eyes, his fingers working absentmindedly as they had done dozens of times before. There were things in his eyes he'd probably be embarrassed for her to see in other circumstances, but right now nothing mattered.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she squirmed around on her back, muscles in her legs tensing so hard they shook. And, as much as he wanted to look, he also wanted to taste.

She jumped slightly when his lips brushed against hers, surprised. But before he could worry about startling her, she was kissing him earnestly. Her hands moved from the sheets, sliding up his biceps to eventually cup his face, and the arm he was using to hold himself up started to tremble slightly—it wasn't because of his weight. His skin was on fire from where she was touching him.

As he caressed her clit, she pulled out of the kiss and sucked in a soft, breathy gasp that had him tenting his jeans. Fuck, he needed more of those noises, and his hands and mouth began to seek out all the places on her body that could produce that sound.

Kissing along her jaw with just the barest hint of teeth, he moved his hand from between her legs up to her breast. She let out a low groan, irritated, but he knew how to appease her. He took her nipple between his thumb and index finger, pinching with just enough pressure so as not to hurt her. She arched her back, bringing her chest up to his, biting down on her lower lip and utterly failing to hold back a moan of pleasure.

"You're a bastard," she whispered.

"I know."

He brought his teeth down to her breast, swirling his tongue around her hardened nipple. Her hands twisted in the sheets as she writhed underneath him, and his erection was straining against his jeans so hard it was almost painful. But this was all about her, giving her what she wanted, and he was determined to drive all other thoughts from her mind for as long as possible.

But then she was rutting up against his leg between her thighs and if he made her wait any longer, she'd probably kill him.

He slid off the end of the bed, dropping to his knees. Before he could ask her to open her legs a little wider, she was spreading herself in front of him, a smile on her face—a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made his fingertips tingle. She hooked her leg over his shoulder as his hand slid up under the curve of her thigh. One of her hands found his, intertwining their fingers, and when he bent closer to exhale a long, hot breath, she tightened her grip. His other hand rested on her leg and he could feel her muscles straining already. He placed a few gentle kisses on the inside of her thigh, grinning as she groaned with impatience.

_Okay then._

Her head fell back and she gasped as he pressed his mouth to the soft folds of skin. She was so wet already that he nearly choked on his next breath; he had missed this, the taste of her. His tongue grazed her clit, quick and teasing, because he was damn sure that this would stretch the limits of her endurance. She didn't seem to share his sentiments, and she shifted her hips, keening in dismay as his mouth moved lower, skating around her edges in easy swipes.

"Don't stop," she pleaded.

_Wouldn't dream of it_, he thought, pressing his tongue deeper.

He flicked his eyes up to look at her and the sight sent all his remaining blood rushing to his dick: her head tipped back, chest heaving, her eyes screwed shut, the hand that wasn't holding his fisted in the sheets like she was afraid she might drift away if there wasn't something to keep her grounded. God, she was beautiful—fucking _gorgeous_, laid out like that, squirming on her back, nonsense streaming from her mouth in soft whispers. He loved watching her come undone and knowing it was because of him. He could take her away from her memories, make her forget everything; he could do that for her at least.

She was mewling constantly, hips curving so sweetly towards him, jerking slightly with every subtle movement of his tongue.

"Please. Oh, _fuck_, Damon, _please_."

The way she arched to orgasm was too beautiful for him to miss. He crawled back on top of her, keeping one hand between her legs and letting his fingers do the rest of the work. He was barely positioned above her before she brought her mouth up to his and he let her taste herself on his tongue, trying not to get distracted by the soft sounds coming from the back of her throat.

And then she sucked in a sharp breath and held it, her entire body going rigid, and suddenly she was impossibly wetter. The way she shouted his name, like a broken benediction, was almost too much for him to take; he thought he might come then and there as he watched her body go slack and collapse back on to the bed.

She gazed up at him almost wonderingly, her pupils wide and dark, and he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

"So," she began, breathless, "how was it for you?"

Laughing quietly, he ran his tongue lightly up along her body, pausing to press a gentle kiss to her nipple. "It was pretty good."

"But you didn't—"

"No." _I don't need to._ True, he was still hard, but the sight of her in the afterglow was enough to last him a lifetime. He didn't need to come tonight. The fact that she had… it was more than enough.

He could wait.

* * *

_Oh no,_ Sam thought as she caught sight of the complacent expression on Baird's face, _we're not done yet. Not even close_.

She pushed herself up on to her elbows and caught sight of the bulge in his jeans. "I can take care of that," she said, grinning.

Baird shrugged. "I'm good."

"Damon, I'm not offering to be _polite_."

Usually it didn't take much prompting to get him to make a joke about her sexual appetite, but he didn't seem to be comfortable making fun of her yet. She frowned; she didn't like that, being treated like she might break.

"I want you to be happy," he said, "but—"

"Hey, hey, hey," she interrupted. "If this about making me happy, I'll tell you what: you being naked _right now_ will make me _very _happy."

"You are incorrigible," he grumbled, but he was taking his shirt off so she counted that as a victory. And he was insulting her—and even though there was only a hint of his usual mocking tone, she figured he had to be warming up to the idea.

"Let me help you out with that."

She unbuckled his belt and yanked it through the loops on his jeans a little too eagerly, tossing it to the side.

"I don't want to push you," he said even as he slipped out of his jeans and climbed on to the bed.

"You aren't pushing me," she countered, sitting in his lap and wrapping her legs around his waist. "I _want_ this. So just… shut up."

She couldn't help the small moan she made as his erection brushed up against her stomach. He was being slow again, his touch cautious and careful as if things could somehow have changed in the last sixty seconds. She huffed indignantly because _fuck_ she wanted him so badly and he was acting like he needed a signed consent form before he so much as kissed her. She could fix that.

Bringing her mouth to his ear, she whispered, "I want to feel you inside me," before licking her lips and pressing them against his earlobe, nibbling gently. He made a very attractive choked growling sound that had her grinning; she knew how much he loved that, knew how it drove him crazy, and she felt the goosebumps rise on his skin.

Her hands went between his legs, wrapping around him and gently guiding him in. Finally his arms came around her, one hand on her lower back and the other pressed flat between her shoulder blades, holding her protectively. She sealed their mouths together with a deep kiss and he swallowed her groan as his hips began to rock against hers.

Such a familiar rhythm. He felt like home, like _before._ She could lose herself in this moment—in the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, his smell, the small grunt he made as her nails dug into his back. He was finally getting into it now, moving with her and setting the pace, tender and slow. Her arms tightened around him as he pushed deeper. She buried her face into his shoulder and bit down, sucking all the things she couldn't find the words for into the hollow of his neck. A stifled moan escaped her lips as he moved inside of her, filling her again and again, until all the empty places were gone.

"Oh god, _Damon_…" she whispered against his skin.

She said his name like a prayer and maybe that's what he was to her; she'd held onto the memory of him in that dark cell—the only thing that kept her sane—and he'd come, her saviour, he'd rescued her then and he was doing it again now.

Fuck, she was so close the pressure was almost unbearable; a delicious kind of pain, made sweeter knowing what release awaited her. She tightened around him deliberately, cried out his name again, and his slow, measured pace finally broke. His hips snapped hard against her, stuttering out a handful of sharp, deep thrusts and—

The world flared white and silent and she was floating, her breath catching in her throat, all sensation completely deserting her body with the intensity of her climax. Some time later, possibly _days_ for all she knew, she felt his arms around her, still holding her close against his chest. Her forehead was resting on his shoulder, which rose and fell heavily as he tried to control his breathing.

She could stay like this forever, wrapped in his arms, with him still inside her. His palm was running up and down the steps of her spine, and she realised he was murmuring in her ear—nonsense, mostly; whispered words of affection mingled with her name.

"You still with me?" Baird asked when she finally looked at him. His tone was teasing, but she could hear just a trace of real worry underneath.

"Don't flatter yourself," she answered, even as her voice trembled slightly.

He smiled, gentle and fond, and began to back up, his dick slipping out of her. She tried to ignore the way her stomach tightened in disappointment—she felt loose, hollow without him, his absence painfully obvious. _But he's not gone,_ she reminded herself. No, he was right in front of her, hands still touching her body, looking at her with such intensity and softness that she wasn't quite sure what to make of the paradox.

"_Now_ you need to get some rest," he said. "Hell, _I_ need it even if you don't want to admit it."

She shook her head. "No, I think you might be right this time."

"_This_ time?"

"Well, you can't be right _all_ the time. I know you too well to believe that bullshit."

He huffed in mock indignation and then leaned in to kiss her. She indulged him, even though her lips were slow and sloppy; exhaustion was finally catching up with her and she yawned into his mouth, which was disgusting but he didn't seem to mind.

"Bed, Byrne," he said. "Seriously."

She collapsed onto her back dramatically, biting her lip to keep from smiling at Baird's long-suffering sigh. "I'm too tired to move. Your sexual prowess has overwhelmed me."

Baird blew out an irritated breath before scooping her up in his arms, like she weighed hardly anything, and if it had been any other man she would have felt infantilized but with Baird it just felt right. He stood on one leg, hopping to keep his balance as he kicked the sheets down with his other foot.

"I forgot how graceful you are," she said wryly.

A few months ago, he would have dropped her unceremoniously on the bed for using that tone with him. Now, however, he only rolled his eyes as he leaned forward to set her down gently. She scooted across the mattress to make room for him next to her. He slid under the covers, arms reaching for her before he froze and she saw him mentally check himself.

"It's okay," she said, shuffling closer. "You can—"

He didn't need any more encouragement than that; one arm slipped under her side, nearly tickling her, while the other went around her waist, pulling her close. She moulded her body to his, pressing her ear up against his chest; his heart was still hammering away under his ribs. The burnt orange glow from the setting sun illuminated the room enough for her to see his face.

"Thank you," she said, watching as his brow creased in confusion.

"For what?" he asked.

"For everything."

* * *

Sam woke the next morning to find that, at some point in the night, she'd rolled over and was facing away from Baird. Still, the distance between their bodies had hardly changed; his arms were still wrapped around her torso.

Grinning, she flipped over, expecting to see Baird already awake and waiting for her. Instead, she was met with a rather amusing sight: Baird, still out cold, mouth popped open and drooling on the pillow. She giggled quietly to herself as warm affection bubbled up in her chest. Of course he'd be just as tired as she was: he'd stayed up with her every night, stayed awake even after she'd gone back to sleep.

Unwilling to disturb him, Sam slowly disentangled herself from Baird's embrace. He didn't even so much as twitch when she lifted his arm to scooch back to the edge of the bed. Swinging her legs over the side, she cast one more glance over her shoulder at her unconscious boyfriend before standing up to get dressed.

Her sweatpants were still on the floor where they had been tossed last night. As she pulled them on, she spotted Baird's sweater caught around a bedpost. It would drown her more than his clothes usually did—she still had a lot of muscle mass to build up again—but it would be comfy. Plus, the sight of Sam in his clothing always turned Baird's neck a delightful shade of pink.

Once she was dressed she headed down the stairs, careful to avoid the one that squeaked loudly whenever anybody stepped on it. In the kitchen, she plugged in the kettle and dug out the plastic container of that crap instant coffee from the cupboard. That was the one thing she might miss about Azura: the real coffee.

The water boiled and Sam made two cups, assuming Baird would be up any minute. However, even after she'd finished her coffee and the second mug had gone cold, there was no sound from the bedroom. Sam placed her cup in the sink and turned around to survey her house again.

Pale sunlight spilled into the rooms from cracks in the blinds, illuminating the dust floating in the air. There was a lot of cleaning to be done if she didn't want to spend the next few days sneezing every time she moved something. That was good, though—a goal to work towards, something mundane to focus on.

_Chores. Never thought I'd actually look forward to those._

Mathieu had promised to visit Anvegad at the end of the following week to continue their sessions. While Sam was glad that she didn't have to go cold turkey with her therapy, she was also interested to see how well she could manage on her own with all the tools that Mathieu had given her.

From upstairs, she heard the mattress creak; Baird was finally waking up.

"Sam?" His voice was muffled and tired. And then, a second later, with a touch of real panic: "_Sam?_"

"Down here!" she called quickly, before he could really start to freak out.

She smirked as his footsteps thudded quickly across floor above her head. Baird came down the stairs, yawning. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was flattened down and sticking up in all the wrong places, his eyes were still bleary, but when he saw her his whole face lit up in a sleepy grin—and she was struck by how much she loved him, was loved _by_ him. She felt like she might overflow, and in that moment there wasn't room for anything else inside of her. Just love and peace and acceptance.

"D'you make coffee?" he asked, stifling another yawn.

"Yep." She nodded. "While ago, though. Yours is cold."

"So considerate."

Instead of heading for the cold coffee on the counter, Baird stepped right into Sam's person space. His hands rubbed up and down her arms, sending tingles all throughout her body, and it made her feel so happy—so _normal_—that he was initiating it. Still asking for permission, in the curious tilt of his head, but he made it known that he wanted her again, if she was willing.

And, oh, she was very willing.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. After a few seconds, she felt his lips twist in to a grimace.

"Ugh, your breath," he said, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust.

She laughed and thumped his chest. "Yours isn't much better, darl."

His face changed in a way she didn't expect; his eyes went wide and then a grin slowly tugged the corners of his mouth up.

"What?" she asked.

"Your laugh," he said quietly. "I forgot how nice it sounded."

Colour flooded her cheeks. "Oh."

Then his thumb was under her chin and he tilted her face up to kiss her again.

It wasn't over. It would probably never be over. Sam wasn't foolish enough to believe that one good night—and amazing sex—had solved everything. Yesterday had been a good day. There were still bad days in her future—but plenty of good ones too. And she didn't have to do this alone.

No, it wasn't over.

But it was a start.

**END**

* * *

**[Author's Note] **And this is it! The grand finale.

Thanks for coming along for the ride, for all the likes and the favourites and the reviews, or even if you just stalked this story.


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